𓂃⋆.˚ ( hq!! ) he catches you gushing about him !
⤷ ゛akaashi, iwaizumi, atsumu ˎˊ˗
atsumu isn't a smooth flirt when he actually likes
someone imo,
repost from my old account
masterlists
────────────────── keiji akaashi
“I’ve only ever seen him in two places; in class and in the school gym. I’ve never actually interacted with him in either one,” you admit sheepishly to your friends, who are giggling and smacking you in excitement.
“No stop! We’ve talked to him before because we know Bokuto, he’s actually super sweet! He’d totally like you if he doesn’t already—if you just talk to him!”
You practically swoon at the idea, your squeals alongside the similarly high-pitched noises of your friends reverberating through the school’s backfield. Initially you had gathered after class to have snacks and talk after school, but that turned into intense fangirling and wingwoman-ing.
“He’s so cute I could just—agh,” you whine, rubbing your palms on your eyes as you pout at the near certainty of never being able to be with him. He’s so out of your league; playing for the school’s volleyball team, being friends with one of the most popular guys in school, having the calm demeanour that practically every girl looks for in a man.
Alongside the aforementioned and your lack of spatial awareness, you’re entirely oblivious to the person approaching the bench you’re sitting on, until one of your friends has to grab your face to make you stop talking - stop talking about the very person who’s now observing you curiously. You don’t take the hint until you hear Akaashi clear his throat from behind you and bend down to pick up the volleyball that landed by your feet.
“Sorry about that.”
“O-Oh,” is all he receives from you in response, to which he smiles kindly. A smile that has you inches away from bursting into tears about how much you miss someone who isn’t yours.
He eyes you once more before jogging back to the corner in which he and Bokuto appeared to be practising, your eyes following him as he did so and observing his every jog and step.
Following that interaction, your group falls silent for a few seconds, until you slam your head onto the bench table and let a muffled scream rip from your throat—enough to express your humiliation but also keep it among your friends, unlike your previous conversation.
“Kill me, I can’t ever look that man in the eyes again. Do it now, quick and painless while I’m not ripping my hair out.”
One of your friends snorts out a laugh and smacks the top of your head. “Girl, as if you could ever look that man in the eyes. Don’t worry about it, he was smiling.”
At that, your head snaps up and you launch yourself across the bench until your face is centimetres away from your friend’s. “Was he really? Don’t lie to me, I didn’t see him smiling.”
She shakes her head. “That’s because you were too busy wallowing in your self-pity and staring at us to realise. He walked off like he got the biggest birthday present of his life.”
And as told, Akaashi had jogged back to Bokuto with a massive grin, rather uncharacteristic of the man who typically—at most—cracked an amused smile. Thus, when Bokuto sees him coming back with such an expression, the ball becomes the last of his concerns. He leans over to observe Akaashi closely, humming curiously.
“Did something happen?”
“Ah, nothing really. Don’t worry about it.”
“Akaaaaashi.”
“Bokutoooo.”
The owl-like man groans and snatches the ball in mock frustration, to which Akaashi chuckles and gently pats him on the back. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to inform anyone that he’d started grinning at the mere sound of you giggling about the prospect of interacting with him.
────────────────── hajime iwaizumi
For the past ten minutes, you and your friends had entered a routine of squealing about the prospect of being Iwaizumi’s lover and shushing each other when the excitement became too loud. Eventually, it reached a point where the latter was no longer done—no one was supervising the volume of your swooning and dreaming.
“He’s so dreamy,” you sigh, resting your right cheek on your right fist.
“And jacked, I mean he could probably pick you up easily,” one of your friends comments, waggling her eyebrows and laughing at the drastic change of colour in your face.
You’ve interacted with Iwaizumi a few times, enough to classify him as a friend, but not enough that you’d expect to see him frequently or even anticipate him thinking about you. In actuality, the man doesn’t go a day without you crossing his mind, to the point where he starts questioning where the hell he developed his interest for you from. That’s not to say you’re not an intriguing person, just that he hadn’t had a serious conversation with you that wasn’t interrupted by something—whether that was the both of you needing to head to class or Oikawa yelling his name.
“I’m telling you, I’m getting taller, you asshat,” Iwaizumi grumbles to a very tired and sluggish Oikawa.
“And I’m telling you I don’t care whether that’s true or not as long as you’re still a reliable spiker.”
Iwaizumi smacks the top of his head with a passion so strong it would seem as though the two were words away from killing each other.
The two continue to walk through the school’s lengthy corridors until they approach the gym’s open doors. A message was sent out to the Seijoh team group chat, following which all that came as responses were thumbs up reactions to the message. At least they weren’t ignoring it.
As the two men walk into the gym and toss their bags in a corner, Oikawa can hear chatter and laughter from people other than him and Iwa, sufficient enough to distract him from the impending practice match. After greeting the others and agreeing on a rotation for the game, Iwaizumi’s ears perk up at the sound of his name. He knows it doesn’t come from his lot since they’re too busy stretching to care, so he’s fairly certain it’s coming from the group of girls he can see in the gym’s far other side—the spot reserved for basketball. His interest is only truly piqued when he notices your familiar face.
Though, he can’t just walk over there and question you.
Matsukawa has his hands on the ball, tossing it into the air and catching it. He’s not really paying attention to what Oikawa is babbling about behind him, so Iwaizumi seizes the opportunity and politely asks for the ball from him. Once Matsukawa hands it over with a heavy sigh prior, Iwaizumi practically launches it to the other side of the gym.
“Oikawa, you absolute trash,” Iwaizumi grumbles with faux annoyance before jogging over to get the ball, providing him with enough of a chance to get within your close proximity and overhear your conversation.
“Iwa’s so hot. I need him as mine so so bad. I die every time he talks to me.”
“That is highly concerning,” Iwaizumi intercepts into the conversation after retrieving the ball, to which you scream and slap your hands over your mouth as if you were caught leaking confidential information (which isn’t too far from the truth).
Your friends are gaping and avoiding eye contact with both you and Iwa in an attempt to appear apathetic to the whole situation, something they fail at tremendously.
“T-That was not about you,” you sputter.
Iwaizumi raises a brow and feigns consideration, though he doesn’t say anything to point out the fact that there is no other Iwaizumi in the school, let alone one that talks to you. “I’d hope not. Wouldn’t want you dead now, hm?”
And that’s all he says before flashing you a knowing smile and heading back to his group.
────────────────── atsumu miya
"His brother is so much more my type, but I definitely get why Atsumu's causing your heart-eyes," your friend snickers, nudging your shoulder a little roughly as if to knock you out of your "daze."
You glare at her lightheartedly. "Heart-eyes? No such thing, never experienced it," you object weakly, to which your friends share a knowing look.
Because heart-eyes was the exact way to describe how you looked at Atsumu. Even if it was the quickest glance, you seared the sight of him into your mind and made him your incentive for even attending school. Well, that and needing good grades.
The group of you are walking home together, an hour past school's final dismissal bell. The streets were empty aside from a few locals walking their dogs or coming back from the supermarket, and it was the main reason you liked staying after school—it meant no crowds and no rowdiness that made your head split.
Atsumu has just finished up practice and is tying his school shoes as he walks, hopping on one foot and desperately grappling with the other. He has the paper documenting next month's line-up between his lips.
Osamu deadpans at his stupidity. "So you couldn't change shoes when benched?"
Atsumu snorts. "Yeah, like that ever happened," he retorts, words mumbled from the fact that he could barely part his lips to not risk dropping the paper. "You're a sore loser."
"You're an arrogant winner."
"Still better."
It's Osamu's turn to scoff then, though there's no real malice behind it.
The two wave goodbye to Kita and the others as they go they separate ways, and once Atsumu finally ties his shoes, he lands flat on his feet and shoves the paper into his bag, sighing loudly.
"He's cute, I know... no, I'll never talk to him... out of my league," Atsumu hears, ears twitching at the intriguing snippets of conversation.
When he and Osamu turn the corner onto the main road, they see a familiar group of girls waiting for the light to turn red to cross. Osamu spares them a brief glance before sliding a pineapple bun out his bag and unwrapping it. Atsumu instinctively tunes out Osamu's chewing sounds when he sees you amongst the group, eyes lit up with something akin to excitement.
"This light always takes forever," one of your friends groans, checking the time on her phone.
You hum and nod your head in agreement, staring at the still-red pedestrian signal.
"Atsumu's playing a match next month, I think it's against Karasuno. No doubt that we're winning," the same friend mentions suddenly, glancing at you.
"Karasuno's getting good. I wouldn't underestimate them," you mumble, placing your foot forward when the pedestrian light turns green.
"Nah, we're winning for sure."
You yelp at the familiar voice and almost trip over your own feet. Managing to actually not fall flat on your face, you look over your shoulder and see the very topic of your conversation(s).
"Atsumu," you murmur idiotically, as if reunited with a past lover.
He grins at that and nods at the green signal. "This light takes forever, remember? I'd get a move on if I were you."
You raise a brow, and he pales a little.
"Not in a rude way—I don't know why I said that, I just meant we should walk now—" Atsumu's cut off by his own pained grunt when Osamu nudges him in his ribs. Compose yourself, is what Osamu was essentially communicating. You like her. She won't bite as long as you don't mess up... anymore.
"So, you were talking about the match?" The blond asks, clearing his throat as the lot of you begin crossing the street.
You purse your lips. "Yeah..."
Ten seconds pass in complete silence, nothing but the sounds of your footsteps and the low purrs of car engines reaching your ears. Until another one of your friends speaks up.
"We can leave if you guys wanna, like, kiss."
"Oh my gosh, no—" you gasp out, slapping your hands over your face.
"W-what? That's not—" Atsumu stutters, swallowing thickly to steel his voice and expression.
Osamu huffs out an almost inaudible laugh. "This guy wouldn't have it in him to kiss her before a ring."
Atsumu glares at his brother but makes no effort to deny his accusation.
Summary: Tsukishima has never been good with words, luckily you two have a secret language.
Fluff ✮ established relationship ✮ might be ooc but its not in my mind so shhhhh ✮ I LOVE HIMMMUUHHHHHHH
˙⋆✮
It was no wonder Tsukishima wanted to keep your relationship private. You've seen the people he hangs out with.
With the likes of Tanaka, Nishinoya and Hinata around, the entire school would know all your business before the end of the day. So for the time being, you two are just 'very close friends'
But Tsukishima knows you worry.
He knows you get in your own head about his lack of affection during class hours. He knows you convince yourself it's for reasons other than saving his dignity from his loud mouth volleyball team. And so, hes discovered a way to quell your worries that will go straight over his teams hollow heads.
Drowning in the noise pollution of Karasunos cafeteria, you and your friends settle at your usual table clutching plastic lunch trays. The trivial talk swims around you, not yet close enough to register since your attention is elsewhere.
Karasunos boys volley ball club clutters round a distant table, each voice booming louder than the other. Kageyama wrestles Hinata for his meat bun, Tanaka and Noya sit scheming for reasons you decide you don't want to know, Asahi looks like he may just pass out.
And through it all, he sits like a lighthouse engulfed in a storm, tall and calm. Tsukishima drowns out the noise like its second nature, because at this point, it is. He focuses on his food, the quiet ramble of whatever Yamaguchi has to say to him today, the feeling of the chopsticks between his fingers, the thought of seeing you again later.
There you are again, infiltrating his mind like a stubborn weed.
His eyes scan the chaos, landing on your table to meet yours.
The comfort that you had been thinking the same as him makes his heart swell, although he'd never say it. Tsukishima never has been good with words, so instead he sends you the same message hes been sending you for the past year.
Setting his chopsticks down against his tray, Tsukki hovers his hand over the table.
He taps lightly, one, two, three, eyes never leaving yours as a soft smile creeps onto both your faces.
Because you know what that means.
And maybe it sucks that he cant say it at school, but deep down you know he means it, he always has.
*tap*
I
*tap*
Love
*tap*
You.
˙⋆✮
Years later you find yourself curled up on your plush sofa. Mug in hand, tea swirling in lazy circles as a warm blanket laps at your waist.
It was late, too late really.
He had told you to go to bed, to not wait up for him as his game was going to run far into the night. He also knew you wouldn't listen.
So now you sit, eyes glued to the glaring TV with a proud smile on your face as the Sendai Frogs celebrate another win.
The interviews commence a short time after though they don't interest you much, you're only watching for one reason anyway.
And there he is, your reason. Blonde hair sticking to his forehead as he shines a breathless smile at the camera, so faint few would notice.
His eyes hit the lens, he knows you're still up. Awake even after his pleas to get some rest. But a selfish part of his heart wouldn't have it any other way.
After a while, when all the question and praise have commenced and Tsukishima is about to take his leave, his adoring eyes catch the camera one more time.
He raises his waterbottle in frame and taps his fingers against the cool plastic, three slow times.
*tap*
I
*tap*
Love
*tap*
You.
˙⋆✮
Divider credits: @/honeyluvsw
A/n: hey hey hey first haikyu fic 😽 get behind me tsukishima I will defend you
⚠︎ tsukishima x fem!reader || use of y/n , miscommunication , mutual pining , emotional angst , fear of rejection , hurt/comfort , confession , kissing , slight arguing.
⤷ you’ve been in love with tsukishima kei for years, but never once found the courage to say it out loud. when he finally asks who you like, you almost tell him the truth. instead, you say completely wrong thing.
and suddenly, everything changes.
by your third year of college, tsukishima kei had become a permanent fixture in your life.
not in any grand, dramatic way. just quietly, gradually.
one day, he was the guy who sat beside you in a lecture because every other seat was taken. the next, he was the person you texted when something reminded you of him. the person you called when you had a bad day and didn’t feel like talking to anyone else. the person whose apartment you ended up in more often than your own, even when there was no real reason to be there.
somewhere along the way, you fell in love with him.
hard.
and somewhere along the way, that became a problem.
because tsukishima was impossible to read.
he was consistent in the smallest ways. coffee before your early classes when you looked like you hadn’t slept, or walking slightly slower when you were tired even though he’d never admit it. but inconsistent in everything that ever actually mattered.
sometimes he’d look at you like you were the only thing in the room. sometimes he’d act like you were just air.
sometimes you caught him staring when he thought you weren’t looking, glasses slightly sliding down his nose as he read something he’d already finished five minutes ago just to avoid being obvious.
sometimes he remembered things you said in passing months ago, and he’d recall it so casually it made your chest hurt more than it should’ve.
but none of it was enough. not enough to risk everything. not enough to risk him.
so you didn’t.
you kept your feelings folded away neatly where no one could see them, and told yourself it was safer that way.
and then there was kageyama tobio.
you really wish there wasn’t.
everyone seemed convinced you liked him. it was easier for them that way, to turn you into something simple and readable. just because he looked at you sometimes when you were with mutual friends, classmates would tease you about it. friends joked about it. even strangers assumed it when you and him were in the same space for more than five minutes.
and every single time, tsukishima looked annoyed.
you always noticed.
of course you did.
you noticed everything when it came to him.
but you never let yourself think too hard about why.
tonight, the two of you are sitting outside your apartment building after a long study session.
the air is cool enough to make your sleeves feel slightly too thin. campus is quiet in a way where everything feels suspended, like the world has paused but forgotten to turn itself back on.
for once, neither of you have anywhere else to be.
you think the night is ending like it always does. quiet conversation fading into comfortable silence, when tsukishima suddenly speaks.
“so.”
you glance up from your phone, “so?”
his eyes stay fixed on the parking lot, “who is it?”
“who is who?” you frown, sliding your phone into your pocket.
“the person you like, y/n.”
well, that’s certainly not what you were expecting.
for a moment, everything feels too loud. your heartbeat, the distant hum of a car passing nearby, the way your breath suddenly doesn’t feel like it fits in your chest anymore.
“what?”
he exhales through his nose like he’s mildly irritated. “the guy you like. everyone keeps talking about it.”
right.
you stare at him. well, this must be it. the opportunity you’ve imagined a hundred different ways. the opportunity you’ve wanted for months.
maybe even years.
you could tell him. you could finally tell him.
the silence rings in your ears, pulling you out of your thoughts.
tsukishima finally turns toward you, “well?”
your mouth goes dry. why is he being so damn persistent? maybe you should just say it. you should just tell him.
but, of course, you laugh nervously instead.
“why do you care, kei?”
tsukishima rolls his eyes, scoffing as if you just asked if dragons were real. “i don’t.”
yeah, clearly, or else he wouldn’t be asking. his answer comes annoyingly fast. you return the eye roll.
“liar.”
he scoffs again. what is with him? why does it even matter?
but you smile despite yourself.
and somehow that makes it easier. you look away, gathering your courage. “fine.”
tsukishima leans back against the bench. “fine.”
your heart is beating so hard it feels painful. “um…well, he’s tall.”
out of the corner of your eye, you see his eyebrows lift slightly. “wow. what a specific description.”
you nudge his shoulder, “shut up.”
a faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before he hides it again like it was never even there. so you continue.
“he’s annoying.”
“there it is.” he sighs.
what? what does he mean? does he know who you’re talking about?! no, surely not.
“and rude,” you continue.
“yeah, sounds like a great guy.”
you let out a breath that turns into a laugh before you can stop it. a real one. the kind that only ever seems to happen around him without you meaning for it to.
for a moment, it almost feels normal. it almost feels safe.
“he’s smart. a little nerdy, actually.”
then something changes. it’s subtle, almost impossible for either of you to notice.
but you do.
because you’ve spent years learning him.
tsukishima’s teasing fades first. then his expression. his attention sharpens in a way that makes the air between you feel thinner.
“he acts like he doesn’t care about people.”
the smile on his face disappears completely now.
“but he does.”
you finally look at him. and that’s when you see it.
the softness in his eyes. the hope. not certainty. not confidence.
hope.
like he’s starting to believe you’re talking about him. like he’s trying not to believe it even though he wants to so, so bad.
your stomach drops. suddenly this isn’t hypothetical anymore. this isn’t a daydream. this isn’t some silly fantasy you replay before falling asleep. this is real.
and if you’re wrong? if you say his name and he doesn’t feel the same way? you don’t lose just the confession.
you’ll lose him.
your best friend. your favorite person. the one person you can’t imagine your life without.
you were halfway through the lie when you realized what it would cost you. the look in his eyes should’ve stopped you.
but instead it made everything worse. instead, it filled you with fear. fear of being wrong. fear of ruining everything. fear of watching that hope disappear because of something you said.
so you panic.
you look away too fast, like ripping off a bandage you weren’t ready for.
“kageyama.”
the silence that follows is immediate.
painful. violent.
you don’t even need to look at him to know something has changed. you’ve realized by the look in his eyes what this has caused.
the air feels different. heavier. colder. so, so much colder, and that feeling is accompanied by the goosebumps forming across your body.
when you finally glance over, all hope is lost—like it was never there at all.
tsukishima stares at you for a moment. then he blinks.
“oh.”
just that one little word. but it hurts. it hurts deeply, like you’ve taken a dagger to the heart.
“oh,” he repeats quietly, almost to himself this time, jaw tightening like he’s physically holding something back. you know him well enough to recognize what he’s doing. building the walls back up, one brick at a time.
and suddenly you realize you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life.
tsukishima stares at you for a moment after the silence settles, like he’s waiting for you to say something that fixes it. when you don’t, he exhales through his nose and looks away again.
“…right. of course,” he says quietly. those words alone are so much worse than yelling.
your stomach drops. he was really, truly upset. “tsukki—wait, no, i didn’t mean it like that.”
he scoffs. “you did, though.”
“i swear didn’t. i panicked. i literally panicked, i didn’t think—”
“yeah, that’s kind of the problem,” he interrupts, voice sharper now. not loud. just controlled. “you didn’t think. you just said it. clearly, kageyama was the first person you thought of.”
you take a shaky step toward him. “because i thought if i said you, it would be—”
“what?” he cuts in immediately. “what would it be?”
you stop. your mouth opens, then closes again. saliva pools in your mouth. this is absolutely sickening. something that’s only happened in the worst of your dreams.
tears prick your eyes. because saying it out loud makes it real. and you’re still scared.
tsukishima notices. of course he does.
he lets out a short laugh, but there’s nothing in it. “yeah. that’s what i fuckin’ thought,” he turns away from you once again.
“okay, that’s not fair,” you say quickly. “you can’t just decide what i was going to say.”
“i didn’t decide,” he says, finally looking at you again. “you did.”
that lands hard.
you feel your chest tighten. “you’re acting like i went up and chose him with a kiss.”
“you said his name,” he replies flatly.
“yeah, i know,” your voice cracks, and you hate it immediately. “i know i did, but i didn’t mean it, kei.”
“then why’d you even say it?” he said, voice dry, eyes avoiding yours.
“i told you—because i was scared!”
he goes quiet at that. not immediately softer. just still. like that word hit somewhere it shouldn’t have.
“…scared of what?” he asks after a beat.
you let out a shaky breath. “of you.”
tsukishima blinks. “me?”
“yes, you,” you say, more frustrated now because it’s all spilling out. “you act like nothing matters half the time, tsukishima. you sit there and make jokes and act like everything is annoying and stupid and i can never tell if i’m just another person to you or if i actually—“ you pause, swallowing back the nearly painful lump in your throat, “if i actually mean anything.”
his jaw tightens slightly.
“that’s not—” he starts, then stops himself again. his throat tightens, as he looks away. “you’re really bad at this.”
“yeah, i fucking know,” you snap. “i know i’m bad at this, that’s the whole point. i didn’t want to ruin whatever this is between us.” you sloppily gesture between the two of you, doing whatever possible to get your point across.
he laughs again, quiet. “you really think this is fine right now?”
that sure shuts you up. because no, obviously, it’s not fine. your whole relationship is falling apart in real time.
you swallow. “i like you, kei,” you sigh, softer now. “that’s what i was trying to say before i panicked.” you exhale sharply through your nose right after, blinking fast and pressing your lips together like you’ve just forced something out of you that you can’t take back. because you have. this better be whatever he had wanted to hear, because this is irreversible.
tsukishima doesn’t respond immediately. and in a heartbeat, that silence makes you nervous all over again.
then he says, “you can’t say that like it fixes it.”
your breath catches. well, shit. “no, i-i’m not trying to fix it. i’m trying to—i’m telling you the truth!” you argue desperately.
“yeah, after you already said kageyama.”
“goddamnit, i corrected it!” you insist, voice rising slightly. “i literally corrected it!”
“okay, well that’s not how that works,” he says, sharper now, and there it is—the faltering crack in his control again. “you don’t just undo it.”
your eyes sting. what were you even supposed to do? to say? he seems ten toes down on what he’s arguing. your throat tightens, “so what, that’s it?”
“well, i didn’t say that.”
“then what are you saying, tsukishima?”
he goes quiet again. long enough that it starts to feel genuinely unbearable.
then he exhales, slower this time, “i’m saying i thought you were about to say me.”
that stops you completely. you definitely thought it was weird that he reacted in such a way when you said kageyama’s name. but you thought you were extremely delusional to ever imagine this being. nevertheless, here you are.
“…what?”
he looks at you again, and it’s different now. less defensive. more honest in a way that clearly frustrates him. “i thought you were talking about me,” he repeats. “and then you said kageyama.”
your voice drops along with your heart. “tsukki…”
“don’t, y/n,” he says immediately, but not harshly this time. more like he’s trying to hold himself together. “do not make it worse.”
“i didn’t know,” you say quickly. “i didn’t know you felt—”
“i didn’t say i felt anything,” he interrupts, but it’s too late. it’s already slipped.
you stare at him. “you did, though.”
he clicks his tongue, looking away again. “you’re so fucking annoying.”
“okay, that’s not a fucking answer, tsukishima.” you counter, letting the back-and-forth continue. he wasn’t getting away from this. not here, not now.
“yeah, well, it’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
another pause. then you step closer again, more careful this time. “i like you, kei,” you say quietly. “i like you so much it’s actually embarrassing.”
he glances at you, his guard dropping ever so slightly. “yeah?”
“yes.”
“that’s unfortunate,” he says automatically. you blink at him, trying to read his face, but he’s already looking away like he didn’t mean anything by it. still, your thoughts snag on it—unfortunate? what does that even mean? he doesn’t like you back? then what was his little conniption for?
you let out a shaky laugh. “tsukki.”
“what?” he says, but his voice is lower now and slightly shaky. you swallow, staring at the ground.
“i’m sorry.”
“for what?” he questions. you’ve never heard him speak so softly. so gently. like you might shatter to pieces if he raises his voice even slightly.
“for messing this up.” you exhale, heart beating a million miles a minute.
he exhales through his nose, longer this time. “you didn’t mess anything up.”
you blink. “i didn’t? but that completely contradicts—“
oh, he knew. he knew his previous actions weren’t matching his current words. “no,” he blurts, finally looking at you fully again. “you just picked the worst possible delivery method.”
that makes you laugh through your tears a little. “well, kei, i figured as much, given that you lost your shit.”
silence again. but it’s not as cold now. it’s different. you see the sorrow in his eyes. he feels bad for scaring you.
he shifts slightly, like he’s debating something. then he says, quieter, “say it again.”
you frown slightly, brows furrowing in confusion. “what?”
“what you said earlier.” he slowly rocks back and forth on his heels, chewing the inside of his cheek.
your heart stutters. “i like you?”
tsukishima looks at you for a second. taking in a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets. “yeah.”
you breathe in. “i like you, tsukishima.”
he exhales like that finally settles something. “god, took you long enough,” he mutters.
you blink. “is that seriously your response?”
“well it’s a good one,” he says, stepping closer.
“that’s…yeah, that’s really debatable, kei.”
he huffs. “you’re really still arguing right now?”
“well you started it.”
“that’s not how—” he stops himself, then just shakes his head slightly. “you’re obnoxious.”
you smile a little, still shaky. “well you like me anyway.”
that makes him pause just a second, like you’ve only now spoken it into existence.
“…unfortunately,” he says. but there’s no real bite in it. no defense. just him refusing to make it easy for you.
your chest tightens a little anyway, because now everything feels too real. and that’s when it hits you all at once. all the time before this.
sitting next to him in lectures where you pretended not to care how aware you were of his presence. the first time he showed up at your apartment with coffee without asking. late nights where you studied for five minutes and talked for five hours instead. the way he remembers things you forget telling anyone else.
the way you always, always end up choosing to sit next to him without thinking about it.
your throat feels tight. you blink quickly, looking away before it shows too much.
“don’t,” he says immediately, like he already knows.
you let out a small, unsteady laugh. “i’m not doing anything.”
“you’re about to start crying.”
“i’m not trying to.”
“well don’t.”
“that’s not how crying works, kei.”
he clicks his tongue, but it’s softer than before. less annoyed. more like he doesn’t know what to do with you like this. and that’s when it really sinks in for you.
you almost didn’t say it.
you almost lied. and if you had, you would’ve lost this version of him forever.
your fingers curl slightly into your sleeve, “i really thought i ruined everything,” you admit quietly.
he glances at you then, properly this time, “you didn’t,” he says. a pause. then, like he really can’t help himself, “you just made me listen to you say kageyama’s name for no reason.”
you actually laugh at that, wiping at your face quickly. “i said i was sorry.”
“yeah,” he says. that’s all.
you wait a beat, expecting him to continue. but he doesn’t.
so you tilt your head slightly. “and i corrected myself.”
he finally looks fully at you again, expression flat but not cold. “eventually.”
you groan, dragging a hand over your face.
“oh my god.”
that gets the smallest twitch of a smile from him. and for a second, the tension breaks just enough that it almost feels like before all of this went wrong. almost, but not quite.
because now you’re both standing in the reality of it. no more guessing, no more pretending. just the truth sitting between you.
he likes you, you like him.
and neither of you know what to do with that yet. you take a small step closer without thinking. he does the same.
“kei,” you say quietly.
this time, he doesn’t tease you for it. doesn’t deflect. he just looks at you.
and something in his expression shifts. subtle, but quick. like a decision being made without words.
one step closer. then another.
until there’s barely any space left between you at all and you can feel your heart in your throat now. and you realize, very suddenly, that he’s really, really not joking anymore. neither of you are.
his gaze drops for half a second, just long enough for you to notice, then comes back to your eyes.
this time, when he leans in, there’s no hesitation left to fight against.
his lips press against yours tenderly and you go dizzy in the head. he’s so close you can’t feel your legs anymore. you can taste his mint chapstick and somehow it’s so sweet, so sickeningly sweet, you almost can’t take it. your lips mold together desperately, as if you’re both chasing something you already have.
the kiss doesn’t seem like it should feel this dramatic. it feels like something that was happening the entire time you were talking, and only now caught up to reality.
your hand catches his sleeve without you thinking.
his hand steadies at your waist like he’s making sure you’re actually there. like he’s been afraid you might disappear if he moves too fast.
and for once, there’s no noise in your head. no overthinking. no fear.
just him.
when he pulls back, it’s not far, not really at all. you’re still close enough that your breath keeps catching against his. he exhales slowly, forehead almost brushing yours, and for a second, neither of you speak
then, quietly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “…don’t say kageyama again.”
you let out a breathless laugh, still shaking a little, “i won’t.”
“good.”
a pause.
he looks away for half a second like he’s trying to regain control of his face.
“because i’d actually lose my mind.” he jokes reluctantly.
that finally makes you laugh properly. and this time, he doesn’t pretend he isn’t smiling too.
author’s note . . . first fic yay 😊😊 for my beautiful @laceylovesmatthew !! requests always open.
synopsis: your bf is a certified beggar and he's not even a smidgen embarrassed about it when his friends take it upon themselves to snoop through his phone but end up finding more than what they bargained for!
cw: MDNI18+, cunnilingus, fingering, recording (with consent) himself eating you out, beggar!kenma (yum), nosey friends, Kenma Kozume x reader, post timeskip
a/n: i need i need i need i need i need i need i need i need. secret yearner kenma is such a hot concept and so fitting. it's always the quiet ones, you know?
It wasn’t often that Kenma’s friends saw him get energized or excited over much, so it always came as a shocking surprise when he devoted even a miniscule amount of energy to anything other than his games. That was why their jaws were on the floor when they sneaked off with his phone to play a prank, only to end up scrolling across a video they never thought they’d see.
❥ “Oh, sh-shit, Kozume! Fuck, just like that!” your moans bounced off the four walls around you, and you arched your back off the bed, mouth parting with a sharp gasp. Your muscles trembled as you reached down your body, arms squeezing your tits together, to bury your fingers in your boyfriend’s hair. You tugged just enough to hear his soft groan of approval, making your thighs tighten around his ears when the vibration created shockwaves through you.
Your body twitched in response and your eyes rolled back with another groan.
“You want more, honey? Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. You know that.”
Kenma’s voice was so soft that you barely caught it, and the still-working part of your brain wondered if the microphone on his phone from where it sat on his desk, recording the two of you, caught it too. Although, you knew he didn’t care whether he heard himself or not.
“Can I record us? I just… I want to watch you.”
His mumbled words from before you even made it to the bedroom floated through your hazy mind. His intentions had nothing to do with seeing him on camera. Rather, he wanted to see your reactions. Watch your breath hitch when he sucked on a spot just right. See what made you tick when his eyes were closed and he couldn’t catalog every twitch, gasp, or moan.
You jolted with a yelp when his teeth sank into your inner thigh. Your gaze swung down and the dark, cat-like stare he looked up at you with made you gulp.
“Stay with me. Please,” he rasped, licking a stripe up your pussy that made you physically shudder.
“I-I’m here. I’m here,” you promised, running your fingers down his cheeks and jaw, holding his face gently. His warm breath against your clit created sparks behind your eyes and you tugged him forward until his mouth was glued to you. He rolled his eyes back with a groan and his hands squeezed your thighs. You could have sworn you saw a twitch of his lips, but you were too deep into the pleasure he gave you to really care.
“Use your fingers, Koz,” you whispered, “I want your-ah!”
Your sentence was interrupted when he slid two fingers into your dripping hole not a second later, curling them with exact precision. Your head flung back and your hips rolled just once-involuntary. Holy shit, it was like he had a magnet under his skin that connected right to the spongy spot inside you. He hit it with such accuracy every single time that you were never able to last long after you got to this point.
“One more?” he asked between loud slurps. Your skin flushed with some embarrassment, knowing the only reason the sounds he was making were that loud was because you were that wet.
Not that you could help it, or would if you could. Your boyfriend was a completely different person in the bedroom. He had always been so attentive, but when the door was closed and it was just the two of you? He really did remind you of a panther or jaguar. Every movement, every breath, every expression-he was zoned in and watching you like you were his prey... And he was hungry.
You weren’t sure if you answered his question, too busy trying to keep your mind and body on the same plane, but you felt when he added another finger. And as soon as they dragged from deep inside your pussy and he sucked once on your clit, you were a goner.
“Fuck! Kozume!”
His hand on your stomach kept you pinned down, but he did nothing to stop the way you pulled and yanked on his soft strands of hair. Or when your thighs suctioned to his temples, unable to pry them off yourself.
“Cum in my mouth. Yes! Give me all of it. Please, baby!” he begged, and your eyes rolled back when he pushed down on your lower belly. You barely heard his deep, ragged moan when your pussy squirted and gushed around his fingers and mouth, but he didn’t stop or slow down. Not until you were pushing him away weakly with a soft whine.
You blinked your heavy eyes open and looked down as he pulled his fingers out of your soaked, dripping hole. Then, keeping his eyes on yours, he licked them one by one, sucking every drop of your cum off. His tongue was on you next, cleaning you up, muttering soft ‘I know’s and ‘you taste so good’ every time you twitched from overstimulation.
Finally, when he decided he was finished, he crawled up your body, placing gentle kisses on your skin, and humming under his breath. He didn't even try to hide his satisfaction.
His mouth met yours and you moaned when his tongue bullied its way between your lips, making you taste yourself with him.
“Can you take more? I love hearing you. I want to watch you fall apart. Can I? Please?"
That next time, he made you sob on his cock until you were begging for mercy.
The team blinked when the video finally ended, unable to say or think anything. Who was that man in the video? He looked like Kenma, and sounded like him too. But that wasn’t-
“Did you get your fill?”
They jumped at the familiar voice and all turned robotically to look at the doorway. There stood their friend since high school. Absolute killer setter, rich as fuck pro gamer and youtuber, and now, they learned, total beggar.
He swiped the phone out of Inuoka’s hand, ignoring the looks of shock coming from all of them before he walked out of the room. But not without one glance back, smirking.
“If any of you had a girlfriend who looked like that, you’d beg too.”
Plagiarism not authorized
🤍 Back to masterlist
💋 Back to xoxo, Wisteria event page
mdni 18+
SUMMARY: your boyfriend kei loves to tease you for your intentional lifestyle; dressing in pink frilly outfits, shopping 24/7, a deep hatred for school and studying, etc. it has never bothered you; in fact, you adored his small quips and teases. until he walks out of chem with a new lab partner, a woman. now he won’t stop talking about her brains and smarts, he brings her around friends more, and the two of them poke fun at you together. but kei seems to be getting a little too comfortable with calling you names, so you handle it.
cw: MDI !! porn with plot, alt universe, college au, jealousy, oblivious partner, lowkey bullying, very dubcon, bondage, yachi ride or die, prob ooc, fluff, desperation, begging, orgasm denial, overstim, dom reader lowkey, sub tsukishima, being recorded, (holy shit im kinda a freak), and degradation.
word count: 7.6k
You sighed heavily as your design teacher continued to drone on about a topic you couldn't give two fucks about.
You stared out the window, resting your head in your hand as boredom set in. With your other hand, you tapped your nicely done nails against the smooth surface of the desk, making a soft beat that stood out against the quiet of the classroom.
As you looked outside, the amazing weather caught your eye, almost calling you out. The sun shone brightly, casting a glow on the colorful scene outside. The sky was a clear blue, with no clouds in sight, making the green trees dance gently in the breeze.
The wind rustled the leaves, creating a playful sound that felt refreshing compared to the stuffy room. The whole scene looked so inviting, making the classroom feel even more cramped and dull.
Which translated to a perfect day to spend shopping in your book. You wanted to slam your head against the desk as time seemed to be ticking slower by the minute.
Forcing your gaze away from the beautiful sight, you skimmed your surroundings. Beside you was one of your best friends, Yachi, who was studying diligently. Occasionally glancing at you and giggling at your very apparent misery.
"Chi-chiii..!" You whined as you leaned directly into Yachi's personal bubble. "When will this torment end..?"
The short blonde glanced at you, clearly amused by your dramatics. "Mm, I think this class ends at 3:20 p.m., so four minutes?" Her lips curled upwards into a soft smile as she spoke.
You huffed exaggeratedly, leaning back into the annoyingly hard surface that was supposed to be a chair. "I'm blowing up this class."
A muffled and bewildered snort came from Yachi as she slapped a hand across her mouth to keep her laughter from escaping her pink lips. Lowering her hand as she turned to stare with a false pointed look.
"Blow up?" She questioned, her face gently scrunched as she held back giggles.
As you opened your mouth to respond, the speakers chimed a jingle, signaling the end of class.
Before Yachi could complete a blink, you were standing with all of your belongings packed, staring down at her happily.
"Hurry the fuck up, I'm trying to get out this bitch STAT." Your excitement is evident in your brightened expression and laxed posture.
The blonde shook her head playfully as she packed up her books and pens. She stood slowly, stretching her back and arms before grabbing her crossbody. Taking this as a sign that she was ready, you took off towards the door with a giggling Yachi behind you.
You both walked side by side through the sparse hallway. You talked animatedly as you retold some drama from last week. Yachi nods along to your words happily, albeit a bit confused.
Suddenly, your path is blocked by the husky, meat wall that is Tanaka. The tall male is smiling down at the two of you. His chest puffed out as his posture remained as confident as always.
"Yachi! Y/N! Just the two I was looking for." His voice was loud, the sheer volume making people jump and turn to stare.
Yachi's cheeks flushed at the sudden attention, scrambling to quiet Tanaka down gently. You, on the other hand, just smacked the back of his head and glared down at him as he crouched to hold his now aching head.
"Can you not greet us like a damn fein?" You sighed, holding your forehead in the palm of your hand. "What did you need, Tanaka?"
You continued to speak as Yachi's hands floated uselessly by Tanaka's throbbing head. However, it was almost like you never smacked him with how quickly he bounced back at the mention of his previous quest.
"Oh! Right!" He exclaimed happily, quieter than the last time he spoke.
He placed two hands on each side of his hips and smiled widely at the two. "Apparently, there is this gorgeous ginger at our table! Noya said that Tsukishima brought her by."
Your face perked up at the mention of your boyfriend before everything fully registered. Once Tanaka's words did click, your head tilted to the side curiously.
"Kei? Brought some random girl to our table?" You asked with a confused pout. Tsukishima was never the type to bring new people into his existing friend group, especially a girl. Usually, he's complaining about how it's too much work talking to people, especially a girl.
Tanka shrugged as the trio began to move towards the canteen on campus. "Eh, Noya didn't elaborate other than she's Tsukishima's partner in a project. You know how Tsukishima can be when it comes to his grades, he doesn't play about em'."
You smiled softly at the small detail mentioned by Tanaka about your boyfriend. He truly did get laser-focused on major projects, so that he tended to tune everyone out.
Once you went to visit him at his dorm, only to discover that he hadn't showered in two days because of a paper that was worth 20% in his history class. You snickered to yourself, recalling how you almost beat him into the shower, the only thing holding you back being the deathly funk encompassing Kei's being.
Snapping out of your thoughts, you come to realize that you are in the canteen, approaching your usual spot. You locked eyes with Nishinoya, who stuck his tongue out playfully upon seeing you. Giggling at his antics, you retaliated with a raspberry as you took your seat next to Tsukishima. You tipped your head to look at him, the deadpanned blonde, who continued his conversation, not even batting an eye at your presence.
Your face scrunched in annoyance as you slowly turned your head to stare at the group, being able to observe who was there now. Nishinoya's lips were pursed, his eyes shut as he concentrated on holding back his laughter. Yachi giggled across from you, her hand covering her lips. Yamaguchi looked annoyed on your behalf, and Hinata, who sat near him, was digging the fuck into his food.
Kiyoko, Kageyama, and Sugawara were also sitting at the table and were fixated on their own conversation, but they did stop briefly to greet you. Unlike some tall, blonde bastard.
You moved to cough exaggeratedly near his neck, watching as his shoulder hunched up to his ears and goosebumps spread down his body. His head swiveled quickly, immediately glaring daggers at whoever coughed on him. When his honey-brown eyes met yours, his face quickly softened, but his annoyed glare remained.
"Was that really necessary?" His eyebrow cocked in clear irritation laced his tone.
Your tongue peeked out playfully from your grin as you tilted your head in faux innocence. "100 percent necessary."
Tsukishima couldn't help the small smirk that overtook his lips at your coy response. He shook his head and sighed playfully. "Whatever, your highness."
Before you could snark back, a soft hum came from behind the tall blonde.
A pretty redhead peeks around Tsukishima's head, her brown eyes making eye contact with yours. She eyes you up and down before turning to Tsukishima with a smile.
"Whose this, Tsukki?" She cocked her head to the side, bringing a finger to her pouted lips.
You felt a tick in your eye at her words.
Who were you? WHO were YOU? Who the fuck was this Pepper Ann lookalike calling YOUR man Tsukki?
Before you could say anything, Tsukishima cut in between you. You notice his face didn't look annoyed, but rather indifferent, when speaking to this random woman.
"This is my girlfriend, Y/N." He introduced you plainly, but you could hear the endearment in his voice. Unbeknownst to him, you were glaring this bitch down.
"Dork, this is my new lab partner, Annabel." He turned to you with a small smile, gesturing to the woman.
"It's nice to meet you. Tsukki hasn't mentioned you, so I never would have thought you would be his girlfriend." She laughed playfully, but it was clear to any woman that she was being shady.
Yachi watched with pursed lips as you clicked your tongue in subtle annoyance. Nonetheless, you put on a smile and leaned into Tsukishima as you spoke.
"Nice to meet you, Annabel." Your reply was polite but curt as you eyed her up and down.
She hummed and scrunched her nose. "Just call me Anna, I hate my full name."
"Mm, I would too." You murmured into your hand before smiling at her. "It's fine, I'll just call you Annabel."
The table, minus Tsukishima (and Hinata), was clearly aware of the hostility between you and Annabel. Nishinoya was staring intently at the two of you with excitement. Yachi looked ready to book it if a cat fight broke out, while Yamaguchi sweated nervously beside Hinata, who was completely oblivious while eating.
The subject was quickly changed by Kiyoko, as she was not about to break up another fight with you in it.
"So, what is your project about?" The raven-haired woman quickly asked to draw attention to something else.
Tsukishima's eyes clearly lit up in his excitement, smirking cockily. "Well, it's about..."
... And that's about how far you got into his chem spiel before tuning everything out.
While you were daydreaming about being anywhere else, your ears picked up your name.
"Does Y/N not like chemistry?"
Your face quickly scrunched up at the realization that the source of the voice was Annabel.
Tsukishima scoffed quietly at her question, his head tilted back lazily. "Nah, she's too focused on her makeup and clothes to even try getting into it."
Your eyes rolled playfully as you gently bumped your lanky boyfriend. "Hey, I've tried getting into your geeky interests."
You shrugged your shoulders and straightened your lips into a line. "I just don't get it."
Your eyes moved slowly to glare from the side at the laughter from Annabel, who was covering her mouth as she giggled.
"Don't get it? You don't understand the fundamentals of life?" Her tone was snarky, but it was clearly hidden behind humor.
Tsukishima chuckled beside you at her words. "That's what I've been saying, how can't you understand science? Hell, even Shrimpy understands to a degree."
Annabel took Tsukishima's so-called joke as an opportunity to throw herself onto him. Giggling into his shoulder, right by his ear. You could only seethe silently in your spot. Your eye twitched as you watched her place a hand on Tsukishima's forearm.
"You're so funny, Tsukki! How did you end up with such a... simple-minded girlfriend?" She smirked at you from her spot on his arm.
...
Blow her up. Blow her up NOW, NOW.
You could feel your face flush with anger, your ears and face burning. Your eyes quickly glared at Tsukishima, waiting for him to comment on the obvious disrespect.
But the tall, blonde just nodded in agreement, smirking obliviously as the table gawked at him. "Honestly, I have no clue. She can be pretty dumb."
As soon as Tsukishima's words left his mouth, you noticed Yachi's eyes darting toward you, surprise etched on her face. You bit your lip, trying to keep the irritation from bubbling up inside, and managed to force a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you attempted to steady yourself.
Resting your elbow on the table, you propped your chin in your hand, adopting a casual pose to mask the growing annoyance beneath the surface. A quick glance at Tsukishima made a mix of amusement and irritation bubble in your chest, causing a smirk to twist your lips. You began tapping your nails rhythmically on the table, restless energy simmering just below.
“Oh, so I’m being dumb now?” you shot back, keeping your tone light but sharp. With a sarcastic grin, you tilted your head, challenging him to read your true feelings.
Tsukishima scoffed, totally oblivious to the annoyance in your voice. He spun around to face you, his expression a playful blend of mock shock and annoyance. His nose crinkled, and his eyes narrowed as if he found your frustration amusing.
“Aren't you always? I’m certainly not the dumb one in this relationship,” he replied, rolling his eyes dramatically and flashing a bold smirk.
You pressed your tongue against your cheek, stifling a sigh as you raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. You shook your head slightly, working to conceal your irritation.
“Good to know,” you said curtly, watching as Tsukishima slipped back into a conversation with the others. Your gaze drifted over to Nishinoya, who was seated nearby, enjoying the back-and-forth between you and Tsukishima with an amused expression.
You rolled your eyes at him, giving him a subtle middle finger, causing him to snicker. With an exaggerated huff, you pulled out your phone, scrolling through messages to keep yourself occupied while the conversation buzzed around the table.
────
The cold breeze swept through the evening air, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine as you and Tsukishima strolled toward your apartment, the distant glow of campus lights flickering in the twilight. You huddled into yourself, wrapping your arms tightly around your body in a futile attempt to fend off the biting chill.
Just as another wave of cold washed over you, a comforting heat radiated from your side. Turning your head, you caught a glimpse of the lanky, blonde man who had draped his soft flannel shirt over your shoulder, its warmth contrasting sharply with the crisp air.
You rolled your eyes, irritation bubbling up inside you, before pulling the flannel closer and wrapping it securely around yourself, appreciating the warmth it provided against the cool evening.
"Wow, how romantic of you." You huffed, watching as your breath formed white fog.
Tsukishima smirked and cocked his head back cockly. "I know, no need to praise me."
You scoffed at his irritable words. Picking up your pace as your apartment inched closer. You stomped up the stairs to your door, reaching into your bag for the keys. He waited behind you, crossing his arms impatiently.
You let out a frustrated sigh as you struggled with the keyring, but finally heard the satisfying click of the lock. Pushing the door open, warm air wrapped around you like a cozy blanket, a pleasant contrast to the chilly outside.
Tsukishima quietly followed you inside, and after sharing a glance, you both kicked off your shoes. The familiar scents of home enveloped you—cinnamon from a candle and earthy notes from the plants.
You dropped your bag and settled into your cozy space, feeling drawn to the warm atmosphere of your room. After a brief pause, you opened your closet and sifted through your clothes, finally spotting the perfect outfit. A small rush of satisfaction filled you as you made your way to the bathroom to freshen up.
He trailed behind you, his eyes fixed on your every move. "What are you up to?"
"Just grabbing some clothes," you replied shortly.
There was a moment of silence before Tsukishima asked, "For what?"
"A shower," you responded, just as curtly as before.
Before he could say anything else, you swiftly shut the bathroom door, inadvertently bumping his nose.
..
"Well, fuck you too."
────
The light-haired man sat lazily on the couch, already changed into his comfy clothes, because why would he shower if he did so the morning before? Ridiculous girls and their excessive hygiene.
He was scrolling through his phone, feeling bored and lonely. The silence made everything worse, and without a girlfriend to talk to, time felt like it was dragging on forever.
Just as he had begun to mope about his horrid predicament, the bathroom door clicked open. His ears perked up as he listened for your steps. Grinning cockily as you rounded the corner.
"Finally, I thought I was going to die of boredom." He expressed, leaning back into the couch and subtly opening his arms.
You made your way to the couch and plopped down a few feet away from him, keeping a noticeable distance. With your arms crossed tight over your chest, you wore an expression that screamed boredom, your eyes wandering as you avoided his gaze. The room felt thick with an awkward silence, and you could practically feel the tension hanging in the air between you two.
He waited with pursed lips and an arched brow. "Uh, hello? Why are you so far away?"
You hummed softly, acting clueless. "Hmm, I thought you were the smart guy, can't you figure it out?"
His face deadpanned as he crossed his arms. "Really? That's what this is about?"
He let out a deep sigh, his frustration evident in the silence that followed his words. Shaking his head in disbelief, he raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t lie,” he insisted, his voice steady yet laced with exasperation.
With a playful tilt of his head and a smirk playing on his lips, he shot a quick glance to the side as if to underscore his next point. “Honestly, you’re being ridiculous right now,” he mocked, allowing his words to linger in the air with a mix of humor and challenge.
You pounced.
────
His eyes were blown wide as you pinned him down with your body, your chest flushed against his. You leaned closer to his face, your noses a few centimeters apart. His hands hovered uselessly around your body, cheeks flushed pink.
He licked his lips nervously, his eyes darting around, refusing to meet yours. "Um, what the fuck, w-what are you doing..?"
You paid no attention to his stammering, as you leaned closer with a calm expression. "Do you really think I'm being ridiculous?" Your voice was steady, clear.
His honey-brown eyes briefly met yours, and he eyed your expression, clearly observing you as if you were an equation that needed a solution. His head cocked back, and his eyebrow raised, a smirk slowly spreading across his lips.
“Currently? 100 percent.” He laughed softly, a clear tremble in his tone as he shifted slightly to accommodate you.
“And as much as I love having all your weight on me…” he scoffed a bit beneath you as he spoke. His jaw clenched with the effort before he finally flopped back down onto the couch with a huff. Light brown eyes squinted up at you, clearly irritated.
You couldn’t help but laugh as you leaned away from his face, tilting your head innocently. “What? Can’t lift your own girlfriend?”
His nose scrunched up, and his face flushed. He pressed his lips into a thin line and narrowed his gaze at you. “Ugh, can’t you—”
“Can’t I what?” You cut him off, leaning back into him. His head instinctively moved away from yours. Quickly, you raised your hand and grabbed his jaw, turning his head back toward you.
Taking in your boyfriend’s flushed appearance, you took notice that Tsukishima’s eyebrows were deeply furrowed, his cheeks were a lovely shade of red, and his lips formed a pout from the pressure of your fingers. Looking closer, you could see small beads of sweat beginning to form on his face.
You smiled confidently and leaned closer to him, your lips just barely brushing against his. You could hear his breathing quicken as his eyes dilated.
"Go on, finish your sentence." The corners of your lips curled into a smirk as you watched him struggle to respond.
"I- You can't- Can you..." His breath stuttered, and his mind raced; for once, he seemed at a loss for words.
Your eyes were fixed on him, determined to study his every move and commit his expression to memory. His gaze shifted from your eyes to your soft, inviting lips.
Feeling the warmth of your body pressed against Tsukishima's chest sent electric jolts through his system. His light brown eyes, previously darting nervously, now struggled to stay focused as your lips brushed against his. The trembling in his hands intensified as they settled on your waist, his fingers digging slightly into the soft fabric of your shirt.
'What the shit is happening right now?' His mind raced with conflicting thoughts—irritation at his own weakness, arousal at your assertiveness.
When your lips fully connected one more, you felt his breath hitch despite himself. Your soft, practiced kiss contrasted sharply with his rushed, hesitant response. The subtle string of saliva between you made the blonde feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that both terrified and excited him.
As you separated, both panting softly, Tsukishima's gaze fell to your lips; pink and glistening. His tongue darted out unconsciously to wet his own chapped lips.
Your fingers sliding down his arm felt like a physical manifestation of his surrender. When they interlocked their hands, his clammy palm pressing against yours made him feel embarrassingly weak.
"Fuck..." he breathed out, his usual confidence completely shattered.
His chest heaved with each breath, his body betraying just how much her touch affected him. Your eyes tracked every micro-expression on his face—the flush deepening across his cheeks, the dilation of his pupils, the slight tremor in his jaw. You smiled with a confident smirk, and he could only tremble, feeling the heat pooling low in his stomach.
Without another word, you stood up from the couch, your movements fluid and purposeful. Tsukishima remained sprawled on the couch, his body too boneless with need to move. You held out your hand to him, your eyes gleaming with mischief and desire.
"Come on, let's go to the bedroom."
His breath caught in his throat as he looked at your extended hand, knowing exactly what you intended. Despite his earlier protests, despite the confusion still fogging his mind, his body was already responding—he could feel the telltale hardness forming against his jeans.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, he reached up and took your hand, allowing you to pull him to his feet. As they walked toward the bedroom, your fingers intertwined with his own, your thumb tracing small circles on his palm.
The bedroom door closed softly behind you, the sound somehow making everything feel more intimate, more final. You turned to face him, your cheeks lifted as you smiled warmly.
"Just relax," you whispered, your voice taking on a soothing tone that somehow made Tsukishima's heart race even faster. "I'm going to take such good care of you."
You guided him over to the bed, your movements deliberate as you positioned him sitting on the edge. The anticipation was almost unbearable—his mind was still catching up to what was happening, while his body was already fully invested in the sensations coursing through him.
Your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, and he felt his breath hitch as you began to remove his clothes layer by layer, exposing his flushed skin to the cool air of the room.
Once he was bare from the waist up, you stepped back to admire him, your eyes roaming appreciatively over his chest, his shoulders, the way his body tensed with anticipation.
You reached into your nightstand and pulled out a pair of silk scarves, the soft material slipping through your fingers like water. Tsukishima's brow furrowed in confusion as he watched you approach, the scarves held loosely in your hands.
You moved behind him onto the bed, and he felt the cool fabric wrap around his wrists, binding them together. The sensation was both soft and restrictive, and he tensed instinctively against the restraints. "Baby—" he started, his voice coming out as a breathless question.
But you were already moving, your hands sliding down his bare chest as you leaned over his shoulder, your lips brushing against his ear.
"Shhh," you murmured, your warm breath sending shivers down his spine. "Just trust me."
Your lips curved into a satisfied smile as you felt Tsukishima's body tense beneath your touch. You tightened the silk scarves around his wrists just enough to make him feel secure but not painfully restricted, then gently guided him to lie back on the bed.
The mattress dipped under his weight, and you positioned yourself to straddle his hips, your weight pressing down just enough to be felt but not suffocating.
Your hands roamed over his bare chest, fingers tracing the defined muscles beneath his skin. The contrast between your soft touch and his heated body was intoxicating, and you could feel his heart racing beneath your palms.
"Look at you," you whispered, your voice taking on a teasing lilt as you gazed down at him. "So eager and exposed for me."
Your eyes traveled lower, to where his erection was straining against his remaining clothes, creating an obvious tent in the fabric. Your smirk widened as you reached down, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans.
You pulled them down slowly, deliberately, exposing the full length of him—hard, hot, and throbbing with need. A bead of precum had already formed at the tip, and you leaned down to catch it on your tongue, the salty taste making your eyes flutter closed for just a moment.
"Mmm, you taste good," you murmured, your warm breath washing over his sensitive flesh.
Tsukishima's hips bucked involuntarily at the contact, his bound hands clutching uselessly at the silk scarves. You chuckled softly, the sound both soothing and mocking. "Already soo desperate?"
You positioned yourself over him, your thighs straddling his waist, and began to move in slow, deliberate circles. The friction of your movements was maddening, your heat just barely grazing his length without actually touching him. Your hands moved to his chest, fingers splaying across his torso as you leaned forward, your lips hovering just above his.
"Tell me, Kei," your voice dropping to a sultry purr, "How does it feel? Having me in control like this? Having your prettylittle cock so hard and needy for me?"
Your words, a direct assault on his pride, but they also sent jolts of pleasure through his body. Tsukishima's jaw clenched, his brow furrowing as he struggled to maintain some semblance of composure despite the overwhelming sensations.
Your hands slid down his chest, one hand reaching for his bound wrists while the other continued to tease his erection. You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, stroking him slowly, firmly, your thumb swiping over the sensitive head.
"Such a good boy," you cooed, your tone dripping with condescension even as your actions brought him pleasure.
"Awh, look at you, getting sooo hard for your little girlfriend. So desperate for my touch."
You shifted your position, shifting down off of his chest and closer to his heavy erection. The new angle allowed you to take him into your mouth, your lips creating a warm, wet tunnel around his sensitive flesh.
Tsukishima's breath hitched, his body arching off the bed as your tongue swirled slowly around his tip. Your movements were unhurried and deliberate, each stroke designed to maximize his pleasure while simultaneously keeping him just barely stimulated.
You pulled back just enough to speak, your lips glistening with saliva and precum.
"You're going to cum for me, aren't you? You're going to spill alllll over yourself like a good little slut?" The degradation in your words was almost as arousing as your touch.
Tsukishima's face flushed deeper, biting his lip to hold back a choked moan. His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to fight back the overwhelming sensations. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction, more contact, anything to ease the building pressure in his core.
Your eyes gleamed with satisfaction as you watched him struggle. You moved off of and away from his cock, using your finger tips to tease the head.
"Not yet," you spoke softly, your pretty lips curling into a smile. "Not until I say so. You're going to learn to respect me, kay'?"
Your hands continued their teasing exploration, fingers tracing patterns on his chest and abdomen, never quite touching where he needed you most.
"Please..." The word escaped his lips as barely a whisper, his voice strained with need.
Your smirk widened, and you leaned down to capture his lips in a deep, claiming kiss. Your tongue invaded his mouth, tasting the desperation there, the way his breath came in short, ragged gasps. You broke the kiss, your eyes searching his face.
"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you." Your voice was sweet, almost innocent, in stark contrast to the way your hand was still wrapped around his shaft, stroking him slowly but firmly. "Speak up, baby. Tell me what you need."
"Fuuuck... I need—..." Tsukishima's words came out broken, his hips bucking against your hand. "I need to... I need to cum, baby.. please, I can't—"
His voice cracked, and you felt a surge of power at his complete surrender.
"Oh, you want to cum?" You purred, your thumb swiping over his sensitive head, smearing the precum leaking from him. "Then why don't you show me how much you neeeeed it? Beg for it like the desperate little slut you are."
Tsukishima's face flushed darker, his pride warring with his pleasure. "Please, baby... I'm begging you..."
Tears pricked the corner of his eyes, eyes that glared up at you, yearning honestly. "I- need it.. need to cum.." The words were torn from him, raw and honest.
"Mm, good job," you whispered, your hand picking up speed.
The friction was almost too much, your wet palm sliding up and down his hot length as your thumb circled his tip. Tsukishima's body arched, his breath coming in sharp, desperate pants.
"Go on, hon'. You can do it, cum for me." You whispered gently, a different contrast from your speed and motions. "Show me how badly you need me."
His orgasm built rapidly, his cock pulsing and twitching in your grip.
"Baby, I'm— I'm gonna—" His warning was cut off by a strangled choke as he came, his cum spilling all over your soft fingers in thick, hot spurts.
You watched his face contort in pleasure, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes squeezed shut as his body shuddered through the aftershocks.
But of course, you weren't done.
Even as his cock twitched weakly in your grip, you kept stroking him. Your touch, gentle but insistent, against him.
"That was so good," you murmured, your voice soft and calm. "But you know what? I think you can do that again. I think my little slut can cum two times for me."
Tsukishima's eyes flew open, his expression shifting from blissful satiation to disbelief.
"W-what? Baby, I can't... I just came... I-I need a minute..." His voice was weak, his body still trembling from the intensity of his first orgasm.
You laughed softly, your hand never stopping its gentle ministrations. "Oh, but you're going to try anyway. I want to see you all dumb and stupid for me. Now, be a good boy and let cum again for me."
You moved back up towards his chest, moving to straddle his legs. Your fingers continued their teasing strokes, your thumb occasionally swiping over his sensitive head to keep him stimulated.
Tsukishima's body reacted despite his mind's protests, his cock beginning to harden again under your touch. The sensation was overwhelming—pleasure and discomfort blending together as his oversensitive flesh was stimulated again so soon after release.
"F-ffuck, baby... this is- t-too much..." he whimpered, his hips shifting restlessly beneath you.
"Agh, i-it hurts... but-" His confusion was palpable, his body caught in a state of overstimulation that was pushing him toward another peak even as his mind struggled to process the sensations.
Your eyes softened slightly as you watched him, your hand slowing to a gentle, almost reverent pace.
"Shhh, I've got you," you whispered, "Just let it happen, baby. Let yourself feel everything."
The second orgasm hit Tsukishima like a freight train, his body trembling with a force that left him breathless and gasping.
"Baby.. oh fuck..! Oh- god, oh fuck..!" The words tore from his throat in a raw, desperate cry as his cock pulsed and twitched, another thick wave of cum spilling over your fingers.
His entire body went stiff, muscles straining as pleasure and ache danced along his nerves. Tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his face contorted in an expression of pure, unadulterated bliss.
When it finally subsided, Tsukishima lay panting on the bed, his body slick with sweat and the evidence of his release. His mind was foggy, his thoughts scattered and disjointed. He could feel your hands on him, still stroking gently, but the sensations were almost too much to process. His cock was oversensitive, every touch sending jolts of pleasure-pain through his nerves.
"B-baby... I... I can't..." he managed to whisper, his voice hoarse and broken. His eyes were unfocused, staring up at the ceiling with a dazed, glassy look. The world around him seemed distant, muffled, as if he were underwater. His body felt heavy, boneless, completely spent.
Your expression shifted to one of heated satisfaction as you watched him. You reached over to grab your phone from the nightstand, your movements unhurried and intentional. The recording function glowed on the screen as you positioned the camera to capture both of you—Tsukishima's disheveled, post-orgasmic state and your own satisfied expression.
"Look at you," you purred, your voice taking on a teasing, mocking tone.
"All fucked out of your mind.. too dumb to even respond properly." You leaned down, your lips grazing against his ear as you spoke.
"Who's the dumb one now, Kei?"
Your words hung in the air, and Tsukishima's dazed eyes slowly blinked, trying to focus on your face. His mouth opened, but no coherent words came out—just a soft, confused whimper.
His body remained limp beneath you, completely at your mercy, too overwhelmed to think clearly. The recording continued to roll, capturing every dazed, blissed-out expression on his face as your question echoed in his mind, thoughhis brain was too fried to formulate a proper answer.
Your fingers traced along Tsukishima's jaw, tilting his face toward you as you gazed down at him with a mixture of amusement and desire.
"That's right," you murmured, your voice dripping with fulfillment. "You're just too fucked out of your mind, aren't cha'? All those biiiiig, smart thoughts just... gone."
You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your touch gentle now, almost soothing.
"You look soo pretty like this," you murmured, your thumb brushing over his swollen, sensitive lips. "All flushed and dazed for me.."
Tsukishima's eyes slowly focused on your face, the fog in his mind beginning to clear just slightly. He tried to speak, to form some kind of response, but all that came out was a weak, "Mmnh..." His body still tingled with the aftershocks of his two orgasms, every nerve ending alive and sensitive.
The silk scarves around his wrists felt loose now, and he could have easily freed himself if his brain had been functioning properly, but he was too drained, too blissed-out to care.
You pulled back from Tsukishima's face, a satisfied smile playing on your lips as you set your phone down on the nightstand, deliberately angling it so the camera continued to record. You stood up from the bed, and Tsukishima's dazed eyes followed your movements with lazy, unfocused interest. As you began to remove your clothes, his gaze sharpened slightly, his body responding even in his exhausted state.
His cock twitched against his thigh as your naked body was revealed to him, all your curves, dips, and plush on full display under the soft lighting of the room.
Despite the overwhelming pleasure he'd just experienced, despite the fog clouding his mind, his body was already responding to the sight of you. A slow, steady hardness began to build in his shaft, his sensitive flesh growing stiff again as blood rushed back to his neglected areas.
You noticed the change immediately, your eyes lighting up cockily as you watched him harden beneath your gaze.
"Oh my,"
You purred softly as you moved back onto the bed, making it dip beneath you.
"Looks like someone's not as fucked out as I thought."
You reached down and ran the tips of your nails along his length, your touch gentle but teasing. Tsukishima's breath hitched at the contact, his body tensing slightly as pleasure sparked through his nerves.
You climbed back on top of the blonde, straddling his hips. You moved and positioned yourself over Tsukishim, your wet, ready pussy hovering just above his straining cock.
"Are you ready, baby?" your voice dropping to a seductive purr.
"Ready to take this pretty pussy until I'm done?"
Without waiting for an answer, you slowly lowered yourself onto his hot cock, your tight walls enveloping him in a slow, deliberate motion.
Tsukishima's breath caught in his throat as you sank down, the sensation of being enveloped by your warm, soft walls sending jolts of pleasure through his overstimulated nerves.
His hands, unraveling from the silk, came up instinctively, gripping your soft hips as you settled fully on him. Your body shook slightly at the contact.
You took a deep breath before you began to move, your hips rocking in slow, deliberate circles. Each grind was calculated to tease both of you. Your wet pussy is clenching around his cock as you ground against him.
"Fuck.. fuuck, baby..! You feel s-so good, t-too good..!" he whined quietly, his head tilting back as pleasure coursed through him.
Your hands braced against Tsukishima's chest as you picked up the pace, your movements becoming more urgent, more demanding.
Tsukishima's mind was still foggy, his thoughts scattered and disjointed, but his body responded instinctively to your rhythm once more. His hips bucked up to meet yours, the motion involuntary and raw with need.
"B-baby... oooh fuc-ck...!" The words came out broken, his voice hoarse and desperate. His cock throbbed inside you, his body already building toward another orgasm despite the exhaustion threatening to drag him under.
Your eyes glowed with satisfaction as you watched him struggle to maintain coherence, the blonde's body responding to you even when his mind was fucked dumb. You tipped down, your lips grazing against his ear.
"T-that's it, baby," you whined, your breath hot against his skin, trembling. "C-come.. on,"
Your thighs quivered from exertion, arms growing weaker as your hips continuously pushed down to meet his.
The fog in Tsukishima's mind began to clear slightly as your whine and trembling pushed him past the point of rational thought. His body took over, instincts driving him to move.
With a sudden burst of energy, he rolled them both, flipping you onto your stomach and immediately positioning himself behind you. His movements were desperate as he grabbed your plush hips and pulled that soft, warm pussy back towards his heavy cock.
This new position was exactly what he needed—control, the ability to move with raw, unfiltered desperation.
Tsukishima's cock sank into your tight, wet pussy from behind, and he let out a guttural moan of pleasure.
"B-babyy... I-I.. god—" He stammered, whining against you.
"I love y-you... ffuck, I love you— love so muuch..." The words tumbled from his lips in a breathless rush, his voice thick with emotion and need. His hips began to move, pounding into your pussy with a desperate, punishing rhythm.
His cock slammed into your heat again and again, each thrust driving you further into your mattress. The bed creaked beneath you, the rhythmic faps filling the room. Tsukishima's hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, your eyes rolled back, knowing it would bruise by morning.
His head was thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut, completely lost in the overwhelming sensations coursing through his body.
Your body responded to his frantic pace, your walls clenching around him as pleasure built rapidly.
"Fffuck..! y-yes, baby..!" you gasped into your sheets, your voice breathy and desperate.
"R-right there...! oh god, r-riiight there...!" Your body quivered, and with a sudden, sharp cry, your orgasm crashed through you. Your walls convulsed around Tsukishima's cock, and a hot rush of liquid gushed from your pussy, coating his cock in your cum.
"O-ohh.. shitt..! Kei..!" You could feel your sheets rising from underneath your mattress from the force of your grasp.
The sensation of your walls clenching around him was too much for Tsukishima's overstimulated cock. The feeling of you pulsing around him, the wet heat of your cum coating him, sent him over the edge.
"B-baby..! F-fuuck.." His voice cracked as his orgasm hit him like a truck. His cock throbbed and pulsed, emptying himself deep inside your warm, soft pussy in thick, powerful spurts. His body went trembling, his hips jerking with each wave of pleasure that ripped through him.
You both collapsed together in a sweaty, tangled mess, Tsukishima still buried deep inside you. His mind was blissfully quiet, the fog of pleasure and exhaustion settling over him like a warm blanket.
Your hand came up to stroke his hair, your touch gentle and soothing as you both struggled to come down from the intensity of their shared climax.
"Holy fuck," You breathed out, your voice still shaky from your orgasm.
You shifted slightly, feeling the weight of his release inside you, the liquid settling in its spot from the plug that was your boyfriend's cock. Your body was boneless, completely sated and satisfied. You could feel Tsukishima's cock still twitching inside your pussy, the aftershocks of his pleasure making him pulse against your sensitive walls.
Tsukishima's cock gave a final twitch inside you before beginning to soften. He slowly pulled out, a soft hiss of pleasure-pain escaping his lips as he left your warm, wet heat. You felt the emptiness, the loss of his presence inside you, and let out a small, contented sigh.
You both lay there for a moment, your bodies still connected most intimately, the air around you thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
You finally rolled over, facing Tsukishima as you propped yourself up on one elbow. Your eyes were soft and loving as you looked at him, taking in his disheveled, post-orgasmic state.
"You look so pretty like this," you whispered, reaching out to brush some of his messy hair from his forehead.
Tsukishima managed a weak scoff, his eyes half-lidded and still glazed over with pleasure.
"You're such a fucking tease," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't think straight... I think I'm fucking fried.."
You laughed softly, the sound warm and affectionate.
"Good. That's exactly what I was going for." You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
Tsukishima responded sluggishly, his lips meeting yours in a slow, lazy kiss that spoke of love and satisfaction.
After a moment, you pulled back, your fingers tracing along his jaw. "Are you okay, Kei?" she asked, genuine worry in her voice.
"You came like.. three times in a row... that's a lot."
Tsukishima let out a weak laugh, his body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of his orgasms.
"I think... I think I'm gonna have to take a long ass nap," he admitted. "My brain is.. I don't even know."
Your expression softened further, your affection for him shining through.
"Of course it is," you murmured, your hand moving to stroke his chest gently. "I did a phenomenal ass job."
He scoffed playfully and rolled his eyes. "In the beginning, maybe. Who did all the work in the end?" He added a smirk at the end of his sentence for good measure.
"Do I need to give you a fourth orgasm?" Your face and tone were flat as you stared him down.
He put his trembling hands up in defeat, "No, ma'am, I am perfectly content as is, please don't touch me."
You chuckled at his words before moving to cuddle into his chest. His hands slowly came down around your nude form, holding you close. He laid his chin on your head, sighing contentedly.
"Ya' know, we should probably clean up." He spoke.
"Fuck that, I'll do it tomorrow before class.."
He snorted before both of you fell into a deep slumber.
────
RING.. RING..
Tsukishima groaned quietly as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, glancing down at you before moving to the source of the noise. He turned to see your phone propped up on your stand, a message about storage displayed on the screen.
He blinked slowly before noticing a caller. He grabbed it slowly and answered, sluggishly bringing it to his ear.
"Hello?" His voice was hoarse and gravelly from the morning (and other activities).
"Tsukishima? Where were you guys?"
A soft, petite voice came from the other end. A beat passed before Tsukishima realized it was Yachi.
He felt you stir in his arm as he processed the blonde's words.
"..Huh." He replied, dumbly.
"Where were you guys? Did something happen yesterday?"
The anxious girl began her spiel. In the background, he could hear Tanaka and Nishinoya hollering about some shit.
"I could expect Y/N to skip out on a day, but when I learned YOU didn't come in today either, I knew something was up! Especially since they called the roll at practice, neither of you came!"
Her words seemed to keep going as she clearly spiraled about.. something that her mind conjured up about you.
His eyes wandered to your rising form, tracking as you brought a hand to rub the sleep from your eyes. You turned to him and raised a brow, pointing at your phone.
Tsukishima took it off his ear and placed it on speaker so that you could also hear the conversation.
Not long after, you decided to cut Yachi short before she exploded.
"Chi-chi.. what are you talking about?" Your voice was quiet.
"Y/N!! What do you mean?! It's 6:20 p.m.?! Where were you guys??"
...
"Guys?.."
....
Queue the scrambling and cursing from Tsukishima, while you cackled in the back, leaving a very confused and scared Yachi on the line.
NOTE: omg this is my first time writing smut.. or writing x reader at all saurrrr if you have ANY tips or criticism pls lmk! ts mighttt be ass since I literally do NOT find Tsukishima attractive AT ALL but i had this idea n knew who it would fit immediately.. sighhh, okay AMOS OUTTT
SYNOPSIS: Two of the world’s most famous athletes trying (and failing spectacularly) to hide that they’re disgustingly in love. Oikawa is dramatic and whipped. Reader is media-trained until he looks at her. Public chaos meets private softness.
WORD COUNT: 8.9k
The Ariake Arena was electric.
Twenty thousand fans screamed in waves of blue and white as the Japanese national team faced off against Argentina in an exhibition match that felt more like a world championship final. Lights flashed. Cameras zoomed. Commentators were already losing their voices.
And in a hidden VIP section, tucked behind a pillar and wearing a black hoodie, black mask, and a baseball cap pulled low, you were trying very hard not to exist.
You were a national icon in your own right. Recognized as the face of women’s football in Japan, captain of your club team in Europe, and someone whose face was printed on banners and energy drink cans across the country. Sitting here like a criminal felt ridiculous.
But Oikawa Toru had begged.
“Just one game, princess. I’ll behave. Mostly.”
Liar. He never behaved.
You adjusted your mask and slouched lower as the players took the court for warm-ups. Your eyes found him immediately, like they always did. Number 13. Tall, lean, unfairly gorgeous under the bright lights. His brown hair was perfectly messy, and that signature smug smile was plastered on his face as he spun the volleyball on his finger for the cameras.
Then his gaze swept the crowd.
And stopped.
Right on you.
Even from this distance, you saw it happen. The exact moment his polished celebrity mask cracked. His eyes widened, that fake media smile melted into something real and stupidly soft. His cheeks went a little pink.
You narrowed your eyes at him in warning. Don’t you dare.
He dared.
Oikawa’s entire posture changed. He suddenly moved like someone had injected espresso straight into his veins. His serves became sharper, higher, and cockier. Every time he scored in warm-ups, he’d glance toward your section with this insufferable little smirk that said Did you see that, baby?
The commentators noticed immediately.
“Wow, Oikawa-san looks unusually motivated tonight!” one of them laughed. “He’s been on fire during warm-ups. Maybe he had an extra strong coffee?”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. Idiot. Beautiful, dramatic idiot.
The match started, and it only got worse.
Argentina was winning, but that wasn’t enough for Oikawa. No. He had to perform. He’d set the ball with ridiculous flair, then immediately look toward you like he expected a standing ovation. After one particularly beautiful kill, he landed, spun toward the stands, and made direct eye contact again.
Your heart did something embarrassing.
Because behind all the showboating, there was that look again. The real one. The one that said I wish I could kiss you right now in front of twenty thousand people.
You were so screwed.
By the end of the fourth set, Argentina had won. The arena erupted. Oikawa’s teammates were slapping him on the back, laughing at how extra he’d been all night. You stood up, ready to slip out quietly like you’d planned.
But Oikawa had other ideas.
The second the final whistle blew and handshakes were done, he jogged straight toward the barrier separating the court from the VIP area. His hair was sweaty, his jersey clinging to him, and he was grinning like a lunatic.
You froze.
Toru, no—
Too late.
He reached the barrier, ignored the screaming fans, and looked straight at you. Then he did the one thing that would ruin both your PR teams’ nights.
He reached out, hooked a finger under your mask, and gently tugged it down just enough.
“Hi, beautiful,” he said, voice low but definitely loud enough for nearby phones to catch. “Missed you.”
Your face burned. You were supposed to be the composed one. The media-trained captain who never cracked.
But around him? You never stood a chance.
You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “You’re such a show-off.”
“Only for you.” His eyes sparkled. Then he leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to your forehead, right there in front of everyone.
The arena lights suddenly felt a thousand times brighter.
You heard the clicks. The gasps. The immediate flurry of phone cameras.
Oikawa pulled back just enough to wink. “Wait for me after? I’ll be fast.”
“You better,” you muttered, pulling your mask back up. “Because I’m going to kill you.”
He laughed, bright and boyish, the kind of laugh he only let out when he was with you. “Worth it.”
As he jogged back to his team, you could already see his setter partner and a few others giving him knowing looks. One of them, probably Matsukawa or Hanamaki, visiting for the match made a heart shape with his hands behind Oikawa’s back.
You sank back into your seat, heart racing.
Your phone was already blowing up.
Teammate 1: GIRL WHAT WAS THAT
Teammate 2: THE FOREHEAD KISS IS GOING VIRAL ALREADY
Manager: We need to talk. Immediately.
You looked back at the court where Oikawa was doing post-match interviews, still glancing toward your section every few seconds like he couldn’t help it.
A tiny, traitorous smile tugged at your lips under the mask.
Us against the world, huh?
This was going to be a disaster.
But as Oikawa caught your eye one last time and gave you that secret little smile. The one that said I love you without words that you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.
The arena lights hadn’t even fully dimmed before the internet caught fire.
In cinematic slow motion, the moment replayed across millions of phones worldwide: Oikawa Toru—Argentina’s golden setter, number 13—jogging to the VIP barrier, sweat glistening under the spotlights, that signature messy brown hair sticking to his forehead. The way his usual media-polished smirk softened into something raw and tender the second he saw her. The gentle tug of the mask. The forehead kiss that lasted half a second too long to be friendly.
Clips spread like wildfire.
#OikawaMysteryGirl trended number one globally within twenty minutes. Edits synced the kiss to romantic anime OSTs. Twitter was a warzone of theories. TikTok stitched together every glance he’d thrown toward the stands during the match.
You watched the chaos unfold from the back of a tinted black SUV, hood still up, heart hammering.
Your manager, Aiko, sat across from you with the expression of someone whose blood pressure had entered the stratosphere.
“Do you have any idea what this looks like?” she groaned, shoving her tablet at you. The screen showed a paused frame of Oikawa’s soft eyes and your barely-hidden smile. “You’re Japan’s sweetheart. The disciplined captain. Not… not whatever this is.”
You leaned your head against the cool window. “It’s called having a boyfriend, Aiko.”
“Secret boyfriend! Emphasis on secret!”
Meanwhile, in the Argentine locker room, the scene was pure comedy.
Oikawa sat on the bench, still in his jersey, towel around his neck, grinning like an idiot at his phone. The screen was filled with your private chat.
You: Toru. PR is screaming.
Oikawa: Tell them I’m sorry (I’m not)
Oikawa: You looked so pretty even in that ugly hoodie ❤️
You: I’m going to murder you. Slowly. With a volleyball.
Oikawa: Kinky 😌 Come over after?
His teammate, a fellow middle blocker, leaned over his shoulder. “So. Casanova. Was that the famous ‘just a friend’ you’ve been ‘hanging out with’ for two years?”
Oikawa didn’t even flinch. “She’s my soulmate. Obviously.”
The entire locker room erupted in groans and laughter. Someone started playing a horribly cheesy love song from their phone speaker. Another player dramatically clutched his chest. “Our setter’s gone soft! Quick, someone check if he can still serve!”
Oikawa threw a towel at them, laughing. But underneath the dramatics, his chest felt warm. Seeing you there tonight and risking everything just to watch him play had cracked something open inside him again.
Two days later, the denial phase officially began.
You were back in Europe for club training, doing your best to look like the composed, untouchable football captain the world knew. Post-training press conference. Crisp white tracksuit. Perfect posture. Calm smile.
A reporter immediately pounced.
“Regarding the viral video from the Ariake match… any comment on your relationship with Oikawa Toru?”
You didn’t miss a beat. Media training kicked in like muscle memory.
“Oikawa-san is a respected athlete and a friend from the sports community. I was simply supporting international volleyball.” You even tilted your head with that elegant, slightly intimidating smile you’d perfected. “I’m focused on the upcoming league matches.”
The answer was flawless.
It did absolutely nothing.
Because thirty minutes later, a new clip surfaced: Oikawa in an Argentine interview, still riding the high from the Tokyo win.
Reporter pointed the microphone at Oikawa, “There are rumors you’re dating the Japanese football star—”
Oikawa leaned forward, chin in hand, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Rumors? Hmm… I wonder where those came from~”
He didn’t deny it. He teased. The little shit even bit his lip like he was holding back a smile.
The internet lost its collective mind again.
That night, you were doing ice baths after a brutal training session when your phone rang. FaceTime. The screen lit up with Oikawa’s face. Fresh out of the shower, hair damp, wearing one of your old national team hoodies he’d stolen months ago.
You answered, sinking deeper into the freezing water with a hiss.
“Hi, traitor.”
“Hi, love of my life,” he sang, voice syrupy. The camera angle shifted as he flopped dramatically onto his hotel bed. “How’s my favorite soccer menace? Still pretending we’re just ‘sports friends’?”
“You’re the one who kissed me on the forehead in front of twenty thousand people and half the world’s cameras!”
He grinned, unrepentant. “Couldn’t help it. You were there. Looking unfairly hot in a hoodie. My heart took over.”
You splashed water at the camera even though he couldn’t feel it. “My manager wants me to issue a formal statement denying everything.”
Oikawa’s expression shifted. The playful mask slipped for a moment, revealing something more vulnerable. He rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand.
“… Do you want to deny it?” he asked softly.
The question hung between you, heavy with all the months of secret flights, stolen weekends, and carefully timed calls across time zones.
You really looked at him. At the man who had once told you, voice cracking after a devastating loss, that he felt like he was performing even when he was alone. The man who only ever let the real Toru out around you.
“No,” you whispered. “I hate hiding. But the logistics… your schedule in Argentina, mine in Europe, the media circus…”
“I know.” His voice was gentle. “But I miss you. Like, stupidly. I almost set the ball into the stands tonight because I kept looking for your face.”
You laughed despite yourself, the sound echoing off the tiled walls of the recovery room. “You’re such a sap.”
“Your sap,” he corrected, then added with signature drama, “I’d serve with my non-dominant hand if it meant getting to kiss you in public without causing an international incident.”
The two of you stayed on the call for over an hour just talking about everything and nothing. The ridiculous edits fans were making. How your teammates had started calling him “Pretty Boy Setter” in the group chat. How his teammates kept asking if he wrote your name on his volleyball tape.
At one point you caught him staring again, that same soft look from the arena.
“What?” you asked.
“Nothing,” he murmured. “Just… thank you for coming. Even if it blew up in our faces. Seeing you there made me play like I used to. Like I actually loved it again.”
Your chest ached in the best way.
Later that week, more “evidence” kept leaking.
A fan photo of matching silver chain necklaces. With yours barely visible during a training video, his catching the light during an interview. Airport sightings in the same city on the same day. A blurry reflection in one of your Instagram story mirrors showing a familiar tall figure in the background making heart hands.
Your teammates were relentless.
During a film session, one of them paused the video and zoomed in on nothing. “Hey captain, is that Oikawa’s reflection or are we all hallucinating?”
Another asked, deadpan. “Does he actually practice those dramatic lines in the mirror or does it come naturally?”
You threw a training bib at her while trying, and failing, not to laugh.
Across the ocean, Oikawa was getting the same treatment. His captain had started calling him “Romeo” during practice. Someone even left a bouquet of roses with a card that said “From your mystery girlfriend” in his locker.
Public chaos was reaching critical levels.
But late at night, when the cameras were off, it was just the two of you.
You sent him a photo from your hotel balcony, the city lights glittering below. He replied with a video of himself on his own balcony, holding up the necklace you’d given him, pressing a kiss to it like a lovesick fool.
Oikawa: Distance sucks.
You: I know. But we’re good at this. Us against the world, right?
Oikawa: Always. Hurry up and win your next match so I can wear your jersey again without people “speculating.”
You smiled at your phone, cheeks warm despite the cool night air.
The denial phase was crumbling fast.
And honestly? Neither of you wanted to stop it anymore.
The sun blazed over the Estadio Olímpico in Barcelona like it had a personal vendetta. 55,000 fans packed the stands, a roaring sea of red and gold for Spain versus Japan in an international friendly. The pitch shimmered under the heat haze. Cameras panned across celebrities in the VIP boxes. Commentators chatted excitedly in multiple languages.
And then the broadcast feed caught something that made the entire stadium and the global stream do a collective double-take.
There, three rows behind the Japan bench, sat Oikawa Toru.
Number 13 on his back? No. He was wearing your Japan national team jersey. Your name and number across his shoulders like a badge of honor. A matching team scarf was wrapped around his neck despite the 30-degree heat. Oversized, ridiculous heart-shaped sunglasses perched on his nose indoors, because of course he went full dramatic.
He looked absurd and perfect.
The moment the camera zoomed in on him, the stadium erupted in a wave of confused cheers and laughter. Phones shot up everywhere. The commentators lost their professionalism instantly.
“Hold on. Is that… Oikawa Toru? The Argentina volleyball star?” one announcer said, voice cracking with disbelief. “Wearing the Japanese women’s captain’s jersey? This is not a drill, folks!”
You were in the tunnel, doing final warm-ups, when your assistant coach showed you the live feed on a tablet. Your heart slammed against your ribs.
Toru, you absolute menace.
But your lips betrayed you with a smile.
The match kicked off with high stakes. Spain was strong, physical, playing with home advantage. You, as captain, were in full focused mode. Still elegant and intimidating, the composed national icon everyone expected. Every pass was precise. Every tackle is clean. You barked orders with calm authority, directing the midfield like a general.
But every time you had a moment to breathe, your eyes drifted toward that ridiculous heart-shaped sunglasses in the stands.
Oikawa wasn’t even pretending to be subtle.
When you completed a beautiful through-ball that led to a shot on goal, he shot up from his seat like a rocket, arms in the air, screaming your name at the top of his lungs. The scarf flapped wildly around his neck.
“THAT’S MY GIRL!” he yelled, voice carrying across the pitch even without a microphone. “GO BABY GO!”
Your teammate next to you nearly tripped laughing. “Captain, your boyfriend is unhinged.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” you muttered, but the warmth in your chest spread like sunlight.
At halftime, Japan was up 1-0 thanks to your assist. As the teams headed to the tunnel, you glanced up again. Oikawa had somehow acquired a large sign from somewhere. With bright pink with glitter that read “#1 FAN OF THE BEST SOCCER PLAYER IN THE WORLD ❤️” in messy handwriting. He waved it like a lunatic, nearly smacking the person next to him.
You shook your head, biting back a laugh so hard your cheeks hurt.
The second half was brutal. Spain equalized early, and the physicality ramped up. You took a hard challenge in the 68th minute. Your cleats clipping your ankle. Pain flared, but you rolled through it, popping back up immediately. The crowd gasped.
In the stands, Oikawa’s entire demeanor changed.
He ripped off the stupid sunglasses, eyes wide with worry. For thirty long seconds he stood frozen, hands gripping the railing, looking like he wanted to sprint onto the pitch and carry you off himself. No more dramatics. Just pure, raw concern.
You caught his eye from the pitch. Gave him the smallest nod. I’m okay.
His shoulders sagged with visible relief. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted again, softer this time but still full of that unshakable belief. “You’ve got this, my love!”
The words weren’t picked up by the broadcast mics.
But your heart heard them perfectly.
In the 82nd minute, you made the moment.
A counter-attack. You received the ball just past midfield, dribbled past two defenders with that signature graceful speed, and curled a perfect shot into the top corner.
Goal.
The stadium exploded. Your teammates mobbed you. Flags waved. Fireworks of emotion lit the Spanish sky.
But your eyes found him immediately.
Oikawa was crying.
Not full ugly sobs because those he saved for private moments after bad losses, but his eyes were glassy, shining under the stadium lights. He was jumping with both arms raised, screaming your name like it was the only word he knew. The heart-shaped sunglasses were back on, crooked now, and the scarf had slipped to hang loosely like a victory banner.
In that moment, surrounded by 55,000 screaming fans and millions watching worldwide, something clicked inside you.
Oikawa Toru had never been embarrassed to love you.
Not once.
He wore your jersey like it was the most natural thing in the world. He flew across continents after his own brutal schedule just to sit in the blazing sun and cheer like a loser in love. He let the entire planet see his softest, most unguarded self for you.
All this time, the secrecy hadn’t been because he was ashamed.
It was because he was scared. Scared the spotlight would ruin the one person who made him feel human again. Scared that his obsessive, dramatic love would somehow taint your carefully built image.
But here he was anyway.
Loving you loudly.
You jogged toward the sideline during the celebration, pointing directly at him. No more hiding. You tapped the crest on your jersey, then pointed at him with a bright, genuine smile. The kind the public rarely saw from their disciplined captain.
The cameras caught every second.
Oikawa clutched his chest like he’d been shot by Cupid, dramatically pretending to faint back into his seat. Then he blew you a kiss so theatrical the entire section around him erupted in laughter and cheers.
After the final whistle, Japan won 2-1, the mixed zone was pure chaos.
“Captain! The entire world saw Oikawa Toru in the stands today. Care to comment on the nature of your relationship?”
You were sweaty, exhausted, ankle throbbing… and happier than you’d been in months.
You looked straight into the camera, that dry wit and confidence shining through.
“He’s my biggest supporter,” you said simply, a small smirk playing on your lips. “And yes… he’s also my boyfriend. The sunglasses were his idea, by the way.”
The press area exploded with flashes and shouts.
Back in the tunnel, you barely had time to breathe before strong arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you clean off the ground despite the security trying to maintain order.
“Princess,” Oikawa breathed into your hair, voice thick with emotion. “You were incredible. That goal, that goal, I think I fell in love with you all over again.”
You turned in his arms, ignoring the cameras still flashing. Up close, he looked devastatingly handsome with your jersey slightly too tight on his taller frame, hair messy from running his hands through it in worry and excitement.
“You flew all the way here just to wear my jersey and cry in the stands?” you teased, but your voice cracked with fondness.
“Obviously.” He pressed his forehead to yours, that private softness emerging now that the chaos quieted just a little. “I’d fly anywhere. I’d wear a dress if you asked me to. I’m so proud of you it hurts.”
Your fingers found the silver necklace he still wore that was matching yours. “I saw you worrying when I got tackled.”
“I hate watching you get hurt,” he admitted quietly, vulnerability slipping through. “Even when I know you’re tougher than anyone. It’s stupid… I just want to protect you from everything. The pressure, the media, all of it.”
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “We protect each other. That’s how this works. Us against the world, remember?”
He smiled, that real, beautiful smile that was only for you and kissed you properly this time. Not a stolen forehead kiss in Tokyo, but a deep, slow, emotional kiss right there in the tunnel, your hands still tangled in his jersey.
When you pulled apart, he was grinning again, dramatics returning. “So… ice bath date tonight? We can gossip about how your teammates kept making kissy faces at me during warm-ups.”
You laughed, loud and bright. “Only if you teach me that ridiculous serve celebration you do.”
“Deal.”
As the two of you walked out hand-in-hand, scandal be damned, the flashes intensified. But for the first time, the public chaos felt lighter.
Because you weren’t hiding anymore.
The weeks following the Spain match blurred into a whirlwind of flashing cameras, late-night flights, and the kind of media frenzy usually reserved for royal scandals.
You and Oikawa had stopped denying anything, but you hadn’t exactly hard-launched either. It was this delicious, torturous limbo with it being a half-secret, half-screamingly obvious that drove the entire sports internet absolutely feral.
Every interview became a minefield.
In Milan, after a Champions League qualifier, a reporter shoved a microphone in your face while you were still catching your breath on the sidelines. Rain dripped from your hair, mud streaked your legs, but your posture remained regal.
“Captain, the world has seen the footage from Barcelona. Oikawa Toru was wearing your jersey. Are the two of you officially together?”
You wiped sweat from your brow with the back of your hand and offered that signature dry smile, the one that made interviewers sweat instead.
“We’re… very good friends who support each other’s careers.”
The reporter blinked. “Friends who kiss in tunnels?”
Your teammate, standing two feet away, choked on her water bottle. You shot her a warning glare, but the corner of your mouth twitched.
“Next question.”
Across the Atlantic in Buenos Aires, Oikawa wasn’t even trying.
During a press conference after a club league win, he leaned back in his chair, number 13 jersey still on, and spun a volleyball on one finger like a bored king.
“Oikawa-san, the Japanese football captain was spotted at your last home game. Any comment?”
He flashed that million-dollar smile, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “She’s incredible, isn’t she? Best midfielder in the world. I’m just lucky she lets me watch.”
The entire room erupted in murmurs. One brave journalist pushed: “So she’s your girlfriend?”
Oikawa tilted his head, biting his lip like he was considering the secrets of the universe. “I think the fans have already decided that for us~”
He left it there. Tease. Drama. Chaos agent.
Your managers were losing their minds. Group chats between both PR teams became daily therapy sessions.
But privately?
The two of you had never been happier.
One rare overlapping off-day, you stole a quiet moment in a tiny coastal town outside Buenos Aires. Oikawa had flown you out after your match. No security. No cameras. Just sunglasses, hoodies, and the sound of waves.
You sat together in a private ice bath setup he’d rigged on the terrace of a rented villa. Just two giant tubs side by side filled with freezing water and ice. Gossip hour, as you called it.
Oikawa was dramatically complaining about the cold while somehow still looking like a model. “This is torture. Why do you athletes do this voluntarily? I’m dying, princess. Hold me.”
You splashed him, laughing. “You’re such a baby. Volleyball players are spoiled.”
He gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest. “Rude! I’ll have you know I train harder than anyone. Except maybe you, my terrifyingly hot captain.”
The teasing faded as he reached over the edge of the tubs, threading his wet fingers through yours. The sun was setting, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks that matched the warmth in his eyes.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly, voice losing its usual theatrical flair. “About how long we hid this. I thought… if the world saw how much I love you, they’d twist it. Make it ugly. Take away the only thing that feels real.”
You squeezed his hand, heart aching at the vulnerability he only showed you. “I know. I felt the same. Everyone sees the disciplined icon on the pitch. Not the girl who steals your hoodies and laughs at your terrible dad jokes.”
He smiled softly. “I like that girl best.”
You leaned across and kissed him. When you pulled back, foreheads still touching, you whispered, “I’m tired of hiding, Toru. Let’s stop pretending we’re just supporting each other’s careers.”
His eyes lit up like you’d just handed him the world. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The night before the big rematch in Tokyo. The Argentina versus Japan exhibition that everyone was calling “The Power Couple Bowl,” you surprised him.
You showed up at the Argentina team hotel wearing his spare jersey. His name stretched across your back in bold letters. It was slightly oversized on you, falling to mid-thigh, paired with simple black leggings and his favorite necklace resting against your collarbone. No hood. No mask. Just you.
When Oikawa opened his hotel room door, he actually froze. For five full seconds, the man who never shut up was speechless.
Then he made the most embarrassing noise you’d ever heard: a strangled mix between a squeak and a moan.
“You— That’s— My jersey—” He yanked you inside, slamming the door, and immediately spun you around to see his name on your back again like he needed visual confirmation. “I’m going to combust. Actually combust. This is unfair. How am I supposed to play tomorrow when my girlfriend looks like that?”
You laughed, turning back to face him. “Figured it was my turn to be the loud one.”
He cupped your face, eyes glassy with emotion. “You’re really doing this? No more hiding?”
“I choose you,” you said simply. “Loudly.”
He kissed you like the world was ending. It was desperate, grateful, and so full of love it made your knees weak. When he pulled back, that familiar dramatic sparkle returned.
“I’m going to be insufferable tomorrow. Just so you know.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Game day arrived under blazing Tokyo lights once again.
Ariake Arena was a pressure cooker. Signs with both your names and ship hearts filled the stands. Commentators had fully embraced their new roles as professional shippers.
“And there she is!” one announcer practically sang as the camera panned to you. “Japan’s football captain, sitting front row in Oikawa Toru’s jersey! Number 13 never looked better!”
You sat openly this time. No pillar. No disguise. Chin high, elegant as ever, but with a proud little smile that said yes, this is exactly what it looks like.
Oikawa spotted you during warm-ups.
His entire face transformed. The cocky media smile melted into pure, radiant joy. He pointed directly at you with both hands, then made a heart shape over his chest. The crowd lost it. His teammates groaned audibly.
The match began, and his gameplay told the whole story.
First set: shaky. Overexcited. He overserved twice, one ball sailing straight into the stands. His sets were flashy but slightly off. With too much power, too much emotion. Every time he glanced your way (which was constantly), his focus fractured.
You watched with soft eyes, understanding. He wasn’t just playing volleyball. He was processing two years of loving you in secret.
His captain pulled him aside during a timeout, probably telling him to get it together. Oikawa nodded, then looked straight at you again. You mouthed breathe and gave him a small, steady nod.
Second set: better. He started channeling the chaos into brilliance. A ridiculous behind-the-back set that led to a kill. After the point, he turned toward you and did his signature serve celebration by pointing dramatically, but this time he added a little bow in your direction.
The arena chanted. Edits were already being made in real time.
By the fourth set, with Argentina leading, he had settled. The shakes were gone. His movements became fluid, confident, happy. Every perfect set felt like a love letter. He wasn’t performing for the cameras anymore. He was playing because he loved the game again. Because loving you had reminded him how good it felt to just be.
When Argentina sealed the win, the roar was deafening.
Oikawa didn’t head straight to his teammates. He jogged to the barrier, eyes locked on you the entire way. You stood up, heart pounding, and met him there.
He reached over, grabbed your hand, and pulled you into a tight hug over the railing. His sweaty forehead pressed against yours.
“You came loud,” he whispered, voice cracking with emotion. “Thank you.”
“You played beautifully.” you whispered back, fingers threading through his damp hair. “I’m so proud of you.”
Flashes exploded around you like stars.
The post-match interview was the final piece.
Oikawa stood in front of the cameras, still breathing hard, jersey clinging to him. A reporter asked the inevitable question:
“Oikawa-san, with the football captain here tonight wearing your jersey… is there anything you’d like to say about your relationship?”
The arena quieted. Millions watching live.
He looked straight into the camera, then turned his gaze to you in the crowd. That real smile, the one that made your chest hurt in the best way, broke across his face.
No dramatics. No teasing. Just honesty.
“Yeah,” he said, voice warm and steady. “That’s my girlfriend. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. On or off the court.”
Simple. Sincere. Devastating.
The arena erupted. You felt tears prick your eyes as you smiled back at him, mouthing I love you.
He mouthed it right back.
The roar of the Ariake Arena had finally faded into a distant hum, like a storm that had passed and left only quiet lightning in its wake.
Security had cleared most of the corridors. The last camera crews were packing up outside. Even the die-hard fans lingering by the exits had begun to disperse, still buzzing about the post-match interview where Oikawa Toru had looked straight into the lens and said, without flair or filter: “Yeah, that’s my girlfriend.”
You walked hand-in-hand through the dimly lit back hallways, both of you still in each other’s jerseys. His number 13 draped over your frame, your lingering scent on his. Exhaustion sat heavy in your bones, but it was the good kind. The kind that came after choosing honesty in front of the entire world.
Oikawa’s thumb traced lazy circles on the back of your hand. “So… how does it feel to be half of the most Googled couple on the planet right now?”
“Terrifying,” you admitted with a tired laugh. “My manager sent me seventeen messages. Seventeen. I think one of them was just keyboard smashing.”
He grinned, that dramatic sparkle flickering back to life despite the late hour. “Mine sent a single emoji. The skull one. I think he’s planning my funeral.”
You bumped his shoulder. “You deserve it. You cried during my goal in Spain and nearly served into the stands tonight. Your ‘cool celebrity’ image is in shambles.”
“Worth it,” he said softly, squeezing your hand. “Completely worth it.”
He led you back onto the court itself.
The massive lights had been lowered to a gentle amber glow, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor. The net still stood in place, but the stands were empty now. No screaming fans, no flashing cameras, no pressure. Just the two of you and the faint echo of your footsteps.
Oikawa stopped in the middle of the court, right where he’d celebrated the final point hours earlier. He looked around slowly, taking it all in, then tugged you down with him as he sat.
You settled between his legs, leaning back against his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist immediately, chin resting on your shoulder. The court felt enormous and intimate all at once.
“Feels different without twenty thousand people watching me fall apart over you,” he murmured.
You tilted your head back to look at him. “You didn’t fall apart. You played like you were free.”
His expression softened, the playful mask slipping away to reveal the real Toru. The one the world rarely got to see. The one who carried the weight of being “Argentina’s charming golden boy” for years.
“I used to hate this part,” he confessed quietly. “After the match. When the lights go down and it’s just me and the silence. It always felt like the performance was over and I had to figure out who I was again. But tonight…” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Tonight it doesn’t feel empty.”
Your fingers found his, intertwining them over your stomach. “Because we’re not performing anymore. No more hiding in VIP seats. No more ‘just friends’ lies in interviews. Just us.”
He let out a long breath, the kind that carried two years of secrecy with it. “I was so scared I’d ruin you. You’re this elegant, intimidating, national treasure on the pitch. And I’m… me. Loud. Dramatic. Needy. I thought if the world saw how obsessed I am with you, they’d tear us apart.”
You turned in his arms so you could face him properly, knees bracketing his hips as you straddled his lap. Your hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.
“I like you needy,” you said, voice warm with affection. “I like when you fly across time zones just to watch me play. I like when you wear my jersey like a proud loser and cry in the stands. I like that you look at me like I hung the moon even when I’m sweaty and yelling at my teammates.”
Oikawa’s eyes shimmered. He laughed, but it cracked with emotion. “God, I’m so in love with you it’s stupid.”
“Extremely stupid,” you agreed, leaning in to kiss him.
The kiss was slow and deep. Nothing rushed, no audience to impress. Just the quiet press of lips, the taste of shared exhaustion and relief, the way his hands slid up your back under his own jersey like he still couldn’t believe he got to touch you so openly now.
When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his. “We’re going to be okay, Toru. The circus will be loud for a while. But we understand the pressure. We understand the schedules. We understand each other.”
He nodded, eyes closed, breathing you in. “Us against the world.”
“Always.”
A comfortable silence settled over the empty court. Somewhere in the distance, a janitor’s cart rattled faintly, but it felt like another universe.
Oikawa’s fingers traced patterns on your thigh. “Remember when I tried to teach you volleyball in that tiny hotel gym in Paris?”
You snorted. “You mean when I accidentally spiked the ball into your face and you dramatically pretended to die for twenty minutes?”
“Exactly. Peak romance.” He grinned. “And you tried to teach me football. I still have the bruise on my shin from when I tried to dribble.”
“You were terrible,” you laughed. “But you kept trying just to impress me.”
“Still do,” he admitted. “Every single day.”
You shifted, curling tighter against him. The cool floor of the court seeped through your clothes, but his body heat made it perfect. “I used to watch your matches in secret, you know. Before we were even official. I’d stay up at 3 a.m. in Europe just to see you set those impossible balls. And I’d think… ‘That dramatic idiot owns my heart.’”
Oikawa’s chest rumbled with soft laughter. “I used to screenshot your post-match interviews and stare at your calm, composed face like a creep. Then I’d text you dumb memes at ungodly hours just to see if you’d reply.”
“I always did,” you whispered.
“You always did.”
Eventually, exhaustion won. You both stretched out on the court, using his duffel bag as a makeshift pillow. Oikawa pulled you close, your head on his chest, legs tangled together. The arena’s faint echoes made the moment feel cinematic. Just two world-class athletes lying on the floor where millions had watched them shine, now just two people in love.
“I don’t want to go back to the noise yet.” he murmured, voice heavy with sleep.
“Then don’t,” you replied, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “We’ve got this one quiet court for tonight. Tomorrow we can face the edits, the gossiping athletes from other sports, the commentators who are now full-time shippers.”
He chuckled. “I heard your teammates started a group chat called ‘Oikawa Protection Squad.’ They’re worried I’m too dramatic for you.”
You smiled against his skin. “Tell them I enable all your nonsense. Willingly.”
A peaceful quiet fell again. His fingers stroked through your hair in slow, soothing motions.
After a while, he spoke, barely above a whisper. “Thank you for choosing me loudly. For wearing my jersey. For letting the world see how much I love you. I feel… human again. Not just the polished setter. Not just the guy surviving fame. Just Toru. Yours.”
Your eyes stung with happy tears. “And I feel seen. Not just the disciplined captain. Not just the icon. You make me want to be playful and chaotic and soft. You make me better.”
He tilted your chin up for one last gentle kiss.
When it ended, he rested his cheek on top of your head. “We’re gonna make this work. The flights. The time zones. The ice bath gossip sessions across continents. All of it.”
“We already have been,” you said. “Now we just get to do it without hiding.”
Oikawa’s smile was soft and content. “I can’t wait to be disgustingly in love with you in public every single day.”
You laughed quietly. “You already were. The secret was never that good.”
“True.”
As sleep finally pulled you both under on the empty court, the weight of fame, pressure, and expectation felt lighter than it had in years.
Two world-famous athletes.
Two hearts that had finally stopped performing.
One love that chose authenticity over perfection.
The arena was silent.
But your story had never sounded louder.
The Yokohama International Stadium pulsed like a living heart under the night sky.
This was it. The biggest game of your career. The Women’s Football World Cup Final. Japan versus Brazil. Ninety-plus minutes of war on grass, with the entire world watching. You had carried your team this far: captain’s armband heavy on your sleeve, legs burning, lungs screaming. The score was tied 2-2 in extra time.
Oikawa sat in the front row wearing your Japan jersey, heart-shaped sunglasses long abandoned, face pale with tension. He hadn’t sat down properly in thirty minutes.
The play moved like lightning.
You received a long ball in the attacking third, chesting it down with perfect control. Two Brazilian defenders closed in fast. You feinted left, exploded right, and then it happened.
A reckless slide tackle. Cleats caught your ankle at the wrong angle. A sickening crack echoed through the stadium microphones.
Pain exploded up your leg like fire.
You hit the ground hard, rolling instinctively, but the scream that tore from your throat was raw and involuntary. The referee blew the whistle immediately. Red card for the Brazilian player. The stadium fell into a horrified hush.
Medics rushed onto the pitch. Your teammates surrounded you, faces pale. Through the haze of agony, you heard the commentators’ frantic voices booming over the speakers.
“Japan’s captain is down! This is devastating. She’s been the heart of this tournament!”
You clenched your jaw, tears stinging your eyes as the medics examined your ankle. Sprain? Fracture? You didn’t know. All you knew was that this couldn’t end like this. Not the final. Not after everything.
Then you heard it, his voice cutting through the chaos.
“Move!” Oikawa shouted, vaulting over the barrier despite security yelling at him. He sprinted across the pitch in street shoes. Stadium security tried to stop him, but he dodged them with the same agility he used on the volleyball court.
He dropped to his knees beside you, ignoring everyone.
“Hey, hey, princess,” he breathed, voice shaking as he gently cupped your face. His hands were trembling. “Talk to me. Where does it hurt? Look at me.”
You grabbed his wrist, breathing through the pain. “It’s bad, Toru… but I’m not coming off. Not yet.”
His eyes were wide with panic. The real kind, not his usual dramatic flair. “You’re insane. I love you, but you’re insane. Let them take you—”
“No.” You locked eyes with him, that competitive fire still burning brighter than the pain. “Help me up.”
The medics protested. Your coach yelled from the sideline. But Oikawa, your dramatic, whipped, completely in-love boyfriend understood. He slid an arm around your waist, supporting most of your weight as you limped back into position.
The crowd erupted in a deafening roar. Chants of your name shook the stadium.
Extra time continued. With only eight minutes left, you refused to be subbed. Every step felt like knives, but you played anyway. Despite your limping and kept yelling instructions with pure willpower.
In the 118th minute, you made the miracle.
A corner kick. You positioned yourself despite the agony, jumped mostly on one leg, and headed the ball with perfect precision. It rocketed into the net.
Goal.
Japan took the lead 3-2.
The stadium exploded. Your teammates mobbed you carefully, trying not to jostle your injured ankle. Tears streamed down your face. Pain, exhaustion, triumph all mixed together.
The final whistle blew seconds later.
Japan were World Champions.
You collapsed to your knees on the pitch as golden confetti rained down like stars. Fireworks lit up the Yokohama sky. Your teammates were screaming, crying, jumping around you. But your eyes searched for only one person.
Oikawa was already running.
He sprinted through the chaos, dodging celebrating players and staff, until he skidded to his knees in front of you. His face was streaked with tears. Sweat. Pure, overwhelming emotion.
“You absolute madwoman,” he laughed, cupping your face with both hands. “You won the damn World Cup on one leg. I think I just fell in love with you for the thousandth time.”
You laughed through the pain, gripping his jersey. “Couldn’t let you be the only dramatic one tonight.”
The cameras zoomed in. The entire world was watching this moment live. The injured captain and her openly obsessed volleyball star boyfriend kneeling together in the middle of the pitch, surrounded by confetti and glory.
Oikawa reached into his pocket with shaking fingers.
He pulled out a small velvet box.
Your breath caught.
“Toru…?”
He opened it. A stunning diamond ring caught the stadium lights. Elegant but bold, with a central stone shaped like a tiny volleyball fused with a football. Perfectly you two.
“I had this whole plan,” he said, voice cracking as the crowd around you fell into stunned silence. “Fancy dinner. Private jet. Rose petals. The whole dramatic Oikawa experience. But then you went and won the World Cup while injured and I— I can’t wait anymore.”
He took your hand, eyes shining with happy tears.
“I’ve loved you through the secrets, the time zones, the rumors, the pressure. I’ve loved you when we had to hide and when we finally got to scream it. You make me feel human. You make the fame worth it. You make everything worth it.”
The stadium had gone almost completely quiet, millions watching on screens worldwide.
Oikawa’s voice carried across the pitch, raw and sincere.
“Marry me, princess. Let’s keep being this ridiculous power couple forever. Us against the world, officially.”
You were crying now too, pain forgotten in the rush of pure joy.
“Yes,” you whispered, then louder, laughing through tears, “Yes, you dramatic idiot. Of course I’ll marry you.”
He slid the ring onto your finger with trembling hands, then pulled you into a deep, emotional kiss right there on the pitch. The stadium erupted louder than it had for the winning goal. Fireworks exploded overhead. Your teammates cheered wildly. Even the Brazilian players were clapping.
When you broke apart, Oikawa pressed his forehead to yours, grinning like a fool.
“I can’t believe you said yes while sitting on the ground with a probably-broken ankle.”
You laughed, tugging him closer by his jersey. “Only you would propose during the most intense moment of my life.”
“Had to match the drama,” he winked, but his voice was thick with love. “I love you so much.”
“I love you more.”
Security finally reached you both, but not before Oikawa scooped you up bridal-style, careful of your ankle, and carried you toward the sideline as the crowd chanted both your names.
The biggest night of your career had just become the beginning of forever.
Six months later, the private beach villa in Santorini glowed under a perfect Greek sunset. The Aegean Sea stretched out like liquid gold, reflecting the soft pinks and oranges of the sky. White flowers and subtle volleyball-net-inspired arches framed the aisle. A small but very elite crowd had gathered. With only close teammates, family, a few carefully selected celebrities from the sports world, and, of course, both of your PR teams who had finally accepted their fate.
This was the wedding of the decade, whether you wanted it to be or not.
You stood at the beginning of the aisle in a stunning off-shoulder gown that flowed like it was made for movement. Perfectly elegant enough for the national icon, but with a subtle slit that showed the faint scar from your World Cup ankle injury. A delicate silver chain with a tiny football charm rested at your collarbone. Your bouquet was made of white roses and miniature volleyballs, courtesy of Oikawa’s ridiculous but adorable request.
Your heart hammered as the music swelled.
Then you saw him.
Oikawa Toru stood under the flower arch at the end of the aisle, wearing a perfectly tailored white suit with a number 13 embroidered subtly on the inside of his jacket cuff. His hair was artfully messy, eyes already glassy the second he saw you.
He looked completely undone.
The moment you started walking, he made the most embarrassing noise. A choked gasp that was half-laugh, half-sob. His Argentina teammates, including a very proud Iwaizumi who flew in started elbowing each other and whispering.
“Casanova’s crying already,” one of them muttered loud enough for the front rows to hear.
“Shut up,” Oikawa hissed back without looking away from you, voice cracking. “My future wife is walking toward me. I’m allowed to lose it.”
You reached him, and he immediately took both your hands, squeezing them like you might disappear if he let go.
“You look…” He swallowed hard, dramatic as ever. “I have no words. None. I’m broken. Marry me right now. Wait, we’re already doing that. Good.”
You laughed softly, that dry wit surfacing even through the emotion. “Breathe, Toru. Try not to propose again. You already did that on the pitch.”
The officiant smiled warmly and began.
The ceremony was intimate but carried the weight of everything you’d been through. When it was time for vows, Oikawa went first.
He pulled out a piece of paper, then dramatically crumpled it and shoved it in his pocket.
“Nope. Not reading that. Too polished.” He looked straight into your eyes, voice thick but steady.
“I used to think being loved by the world was the goal. Then I met you. You saw the version of me that was exhausted from performing. The clingy, dramatic, insecure guy who needed someone to remind him why he fell in love with volleyball in the first place. You taught me that being known isn’t the same as being loved. You chose me when it was hard. You wore my jersey when the world was watching. You head-butted a World Cup winning goal on one leg and still said yes when I proposed like an idiot on the pitch.”
Tears slipped down his cheeks. He didn’t bother wiping them.
“I promise to keep being your loudest supporter. To fly across continents for your matches. To do ice baths with you even though I complain the whole time. To make you laugh when the pressure gets too heavy. And to love you so obnoxiously that the internet never runs out of edits. You’re my greatest set. My perfect match. My forever.”
The crowd was sniffling. Your teammates were openly crying. Even Iwaizumi looked suspiciously misty-eyed.
Your turn.
You took a deep breath, holding his hands tighter.
“Toru… you absolute menace.” Soft laughter rippled through the guests. “You came into my life like a serve I never saw coming. Loud, flashy, impossible to ignore. You made me feel seen when I was tired of being the perfect captain. You flew across the world just to wear my jersey and cry in the stands like a proud loser. You taught me that it’s okay to be chaotic and soft at the same time.”
You reached up and brushed a tear from his cheek.
“I promise to keep teasing you when you’re being dramatic. To steal your hoodies forever. To support your dreams as loudly as you support mine. To build a life with you that’s equal parts chaos and peace. Because even when schedules are impossible and the media is watching, loving you has always felt like the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
Oikawa was fully crying now. He didn’t even try to hide it.
The officiant barely got through “You may now kiss the bride” before Oikawa pulled you in, dipping you dramatically as he kissed you like the world was ending and beginning all at once. The guests cheered wildly. Someone who was definitely one of his teammates set off confetti cannons early.
The reception was pure chaos, exactly as expected.
Long tables overlooked the sea. The speeches were hilarious. Your vice-captain gave a deadpan toast about how you went from “scary composed leader” to “Oikawa-enabler supreme.” Iwaizumi’s speech was short, brutal, and perfect: “Finally. Took you long enough, dumbass. Don’t screw it up.”
Oikawa’s Argentina teammates performed a ridiculous group dance that involved volleyball moves. Your teammates countered with a football chant that ended with everyone chanting “Power Couple! Power Couple!”
At one point, Oikawa stole the microphone.
“Quick announcement,” he said, grinning like a madman. “My wife— God, I love saying that— just agreed that our first dance will include me attempting to teach her my serve celebration.”
The crowd lost it as he dragged you to the dance floor.
The song was slow at first, starting off soft and romantic. You swayed together under string lights, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, your head on his chest.
“I can’t believe we’re married,” he whispered against your hair. “After all the hiding. All the rumors. All the late-night FaceTimes where we were both exhausted but still stayed on call for hours.”
You looked up at him, eyes shining. “Best decision I ever made.”
Later, when the party was in full swing, you slipped away together to a quiet cliffside balcony overlooking the water. The noise of the celebration faded into background music.
Oikawa leaned against the railing, pulling you between his legs. He was still wearing his suit jacket over your shoulders like a blanket.
“Mrs. Oikawa,” he murmured, testing the name with a soft, awed smile.
You raised an eyebrow. “We’re hyphenating, remember? But I’ll allow it tonight.”
He laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. “Thank you for loving me loudly. For choosing the chaos with me.”
You kissed him slowly, deeply, tasting salt from the sea air and the sweetness of celebration.
When you pulled back, you whispered, “Us against the world. Forever.”
He slipped his hand into yours, fingers brushing over your wedding band and the engagement ring that started it all on that World Cup pitch.
“Forever,” he promised.
In the distance, fireworks lit up the Greek sky. Not for the wedding, but because the universe itself seemed to be celebrating.
Two athletes.
Two hearts that refused to stay hidden.
One love story that went from secret VIP seats to the biggest “I do” the sports world had ever seen.
And they lived loudly, softly, dramatically, and completely ever after.
wc: 1.4k
content warning: kinktober day 6 - creampie, smut, honeymoon w/ hubby bokuto x reader, talk abt pregnancy, not proofread
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ₊ ˚ ⊹
lord... the moment your wedding celebration was over was the night you knew you wouldn't be able to walk from here on out.
bokuto, your now and newlywed husband was crying as he stood and watched you walk down the aisle accompied by your loved one. but alone, he couldn't stop thinking about what you looked like under your dress and filled with his white essence.
of course, you guys saved up and planned an intimate getaway for your honeymoon to get away from all the stressful planning and wedding as a whole.
when you arrived, it was late and you two were more than ready to hit the sheets. watching bokuto open the door to your private hotel suite, you were immediately shocked at how luxurious your room was. the room was spotless with a beautiful balcony view that overlooked the city lights.
not to mention, since it was your honeymoon, the hotel staff had decorated your room with roses, rose petals on the bed, champagne, and more fancy amenities that you and bokuto were excited to open. but before you could unwind, you two made sure to get your own essentials unpacked and to make yourselves at home.
hitting the showers first as bokuto watches the city view, you can't help but still feel the high of now being officially married to the man you love and admire the most. the idea of bokuto as a whole was bigger than you can imagine, lawfully married to one of japan's greatest volleyball players, bokuto kotaro?
showering as you gush over your relationship status, doing your skin care, putting on lotion before walking out in your squeaky clean robe and fresh face, bokuto's face beams the moment you walk out. even though you're bare faced with wet hair, you're still the most perfect person he's ever laid his eyes on. now it was your turn to unpack and relax while he showers.
jumping onto the nice and plush hotel bed, you sink into the mattress but before your eyes can close bokuto's quick with his shower and walks out in his white robe. his hair was freshly washed, his bare chest peeked from his robe as he fiddled with the belt, droplets of warm water still clinging onto his damp skin all while the steam followed him out the door.
you thought he was handsome when you took your first look, but you knew deep down he looked the most handsome in that robe and freshly out of the shower. right when you stared a little too hard at his current state, bokuto jumps right on top of you, catching you by surprise as he started to attack your face with his rough but affectionate kisses.
"i can't believe it. babe, we're official!" bokuto exclaims between pecks, "fuck this is crazy."
giggling at his sudden kiss attack, you put your arms around his neck to draw him in closer for one big kiss on the lips to which he lets you do. his delicate lips versus the way he peppered you kisses made you both instantly melt and become one. wrapping your legs around him, bokuto's hooked.
eyes closed shut as you two started to let loose, you can feel his girth hardening as it prods your inner thigh. the way bokuto's on top of you shows you more of his bare chest and down there, hence his belt was half tied correctly. you can see that his tip was a fiery red and rubbing against the fabric of the robe.
"hold on babe," you paused the makeout and put a hand on his chest to make room to completely undo his belt and reveal his raging erection that leaked of precum "gosh, you're so hard already.."
continuing with your kiss once more, but this time your hand on his cock, you pumped it up and down at a steady pace. bokuto's sliding his tongue into your mouth, massaging yours with his as he moans into the kiss.
you might be the only one getting handsy, but little did you know bokuto's hand worked on getting your robe off. you didn't feel the breeze until you looked down and saw everything exposed to the cool air that made your nipples hard. bokuto's calloused fingers were on your clit, circling and tenderly stimulating you as you produced slick.
"a-ah, that feels good kotaro.." you whimpered into his neck as he continued to rub you off.
"how about a finger.. or two?" reaching further down, you can feel his middle digit pass your folds and enter your pussy.
his thick fingers are both inside you as your walls clung onto him, pulsating and producing more of your essence. warm, sticky, and absolutely sopping, bokuto hooked his fingers inside you many times whilst watching you moan with pleasure with your back arching with every movement.
"hmm.. you ready?" placing a kiss on your hot cheek, then followed by your neck. you nod in excitement and eagerness as the tip of his nose tickles your moist skin.
pulling out his fingers to replace them with his cock, you feel him line himself up at your entrance. before he enters, bokuto's going through your folds to collect your slick. he's already breathing raggedy, hair a mess and still damp, with his robe undone, showing off his physic that you admired, not to mention his length that always has you screaming his name.
the first thrust in just nearly knocked all the air out of your lungs as you clung onto his built biceps. rolling his hips into you repeatedly as you come completely undone underneath him, you can't help but moan and whimper.
his cock is thick, whenever he pushed himself in and out it was like getting filled and emptied to be filled right back. bokuto's able to reach all sorts of places no other man could whenever he bullies his dick into you rapidly. when bokuto finds and hits your sweet spot, it's a different story, a story that brings you to euphoria.
"oo-oh, what if i just get you pregnant??" bokuto says breathlessly in between moans, eyes on your breasts that sway with his movements, "imagine our c-children running around.."
you're listening, but way too fucked out of your mind to imagine little bokuto mini-mes running around your house. your walls felt like they were closing in on him, squeezing and abolsutely trying to milk him the moment you heard him say 'you' and 'pregnant.'
"s-shit, i want to see you and your swollen belly... and big tits that're heavy with milk" bokuto's so pussydrunk right now he can't speak without stuttering and rolling his eyes back into his skull mid thrusts.
you can basically feel his dick twitching like crazy inside you just like how your cunt was pulsating around him. hitting your sweet spot multiple times, you can't help but moan in a high pitch to let him know how good you felt.
bokuto's just fucking you so so good, you can't even utter out a full sentence besides strings of curses and his name. it was thrust, after thrust, as your legs started to tremble while your heart started to pick up the pace even more than usual, that you were reaching your high.
"k-kotaru..! i'm gonna c—" yelling at the top of your lungs to get stopped, bokuto blurted "me t-too. let's cum... together..!"
you can tell he meant every word. you're physically so exhausted, all you could do was nod behind your dazed and heavy eyes as he continued to fuck you and send you into an orbit.
"cum—fucking, m'cumming!" he curses out loud while grasping onto your hand as you both come at the same time.
his twitching dick absolutely splashes his milky white fluid inside your walls, coating them with his seed as he empties himself in you. you're absolutely starstruck and on the verge of blacking out as you came on his dick.
even bokuto couldn't endure his love for you and that pussy as his heavy and sweaty body collapses on top of you, just at an angle where he's not crushing you.
"wa-wait my dick's still inside you" bokuto mutters under his heavy breathing, before slipping his cock out, followed by his cum that spurts out as you watched.
before bokuto can say anything, he takes his thumb to shove his seed back inside, making sure he secures his future with you.
kuroo looks up from across you, putting his pen to the side to look at your paper. “hm?”
you furrow your eyebrows and huff, “how the hell do you balance this damn equation?”
“let me see?” kuroo makes his way to the seat beside you, leaning in closer to look at the question you’re stuck on. “this is like.. the basics.”
you groan at his remark, laying your head flat on the table. you tell him off for making you feel dumb and encouraged him to teach you instead. little does he know, you only wanted to get closer to him;3
kuroo sighs, leaning over on the table to write the equation out and break it down for you in simpler steps. he starts explaining and you act focused, but all you could concentrate on were his biceps laying right in front of you. it doesn’t help that he’s wearing a compression shirt too😵💫
you let out small mhm’s and nods, letting him know that you’re listening. or in this case, pretending you are.
of course, kuroo’s not dumb—he’s a damn nerd for god’s sake.
“and H in the periodic table stands for oxygen, isn’t that right?” he holds a chuckle back in once you agree with his statement, side-eyeing you side-eyeing his biceps him.
he puts the pen down, crossing his arms and turning to face you, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“what?”
“if you wanna touch my biceps you could’ve just asked.” you let out a small hiccup and looked away immediately.
“the fuck? I wasn’t looking at that.”
“yeah? were you looking at my abs then? my, y/n, how scandalous!” he laughs. you immediately shush him once you noticed everyone in the library was staring at you and even the librarian gave you warning stares.
you glare at him, cheeks burning, and swat his arm—not the bicep, though you’re painfully aware of how solid it is. “you’re the worst,” you whisper harshly, eyes darting back to the textbook in a desperate attempt to seem unbothered.
kuroo leans in, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “you’re blushing. don’t think i didn’t notice.”
you roll your eyes, flipping a page a little too aggressively. “i’m red because of secondhand embarrassment. everyone’s staring because you’re loud and obnoxious.”
he hums, clearly unconvinced. “mhmm. sure. not because i caught you eyeing me like a protein bar after leg day?”
you choke on air. he beams.
“you’re not even studying,” you mumble, trying to redirect the conversation. “what was that about hydrogen being oxygen?”
“i was testing you,” he says with full confidence. “making sure you’re paying attention. you passed, by the way. i’ll allow you to celebrate by finally admitting you’re totally into me.”
you meet his smug gaze and raise a brow. “i’ll celebrate by shoving my foot down your throat. how ‘bout that?”
“feisty.” his grin widens, “just my type.”
you shove your notebook between you two like a shield, muttering something about regretting every life choice that led you here—but your smile gives your true feelings away.
